


what's a little pollen between enemies?

by architecture_in_f1ll0ry



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sex Pollen, amaya/opeli crumbs, and I'll call you a liar, implied varrai, mild drug use, tell me they don't have incredible hatesex potential
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/architecture_in_f1ll0ry/pseuds/architecture_in_f1ll0ry
Summary: Opeli has always prided herself on being careful, measured, bearing each decision with the gravity and decorum that her position demanded. As a member of the High Council, she had no choice to but comport herself with utmost dignity, a task that she accepted and performed with pride. Which is why she was utterly at a loss with her current situation: trespassing in Viren’s study, having inhaled the dust of a mystery flower. And it was having the most peculiar effect on her...
Relationships: Harrow/Viren (The Dragon Prince), Viren/Opeli (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 73





	1. I trust you will keep this incident discreet?

Opeli was only here on the King’s orders. He’d told her to find the mage, as he had important things to discuss with him. Clamping down her instinctive flare of resentment—she couldn’t stand the arrogant, smarmy Viren, forever parading around his disgusting dark magic, lording his close relationship with the King over all the other members of the Council—she obeys, descending to the clammy bowels of the castle where Viren does his work. She holds the front of her robes gingerly in her fingertips as she makes her way down the stairs, hoping she runs into him coming from the opposite direction; even better, with another person, so she wouldn’t be forced to make polite conversation with him alone. 

He isn't a stupid man, to be certain; that at least she could respect. Opeli does not abide fools. Nor is he particularly unpleasant to look at, which was even more irritating. Those thick, expressive brows and chiseled cheekbones...so stern and cold, but no less...striking. 

Opeli huffs, rolls her eyes. Why is she even thinking about this, anyway? Ridiculous. The man is a thorn in her side.

She approaches his door and knocks briskly.

“Lord Viren,” she calls out, and waits. No answer. She knocks again, a bit more loudly. “Lord Viren, King Harrow wishes to speak with you.”

Silence.

She could not return to the King without Viren. She refuses to fail at any task, much less one so simple. Was she supposed to comb the entire castle for this man? Of course he wouldn’t be where he was expected to be. Of course.

A burst of annoyance compels her to twist the knob and open the door. “Lord Viren, are you here?” she questions, peering around, curiosity getting the better of her. She’s never been here before; had no reason to. She knows he does spell work in here; it's possible that maybe he doesn't hear her from outside the door. It is a rather large room, after all. She notices an adjoining door slightly ajar, leading to a separate chamber that glows with light. She crosses over and looks inside, surprised to find a stunning menagerie of plants and herbs, balls of enchanted yellow light—artificial sunlight, she guesses—floating from the ceiling. A vibrant purple flower to her left catches her attention; it sways slightly, though there is no breeze, and she notices it is in a large glass cage, but the door is left open. 

Why would a plant require a cage, she wonders, getting closer. It is absolutely beautiful; nearly as tall as she is, the petals bearing riotous splashes of magenta and violet, the inner leaves covered in a fine, golden dust that—Opeli realizes with a start how close she’d been leaning, overbalances, and nearly falls over, catching herself just in time on the walls of the cage. The movement shakes the plant, creating a mini-cloud of the dust she’d been inspecting, and she sneezes violently three, four times in a row, then freezes, sniffling, when she hears an incredulous voice.

“Who’s there?” Viren exclaims, and she whirls around, heart racing, as he bursts into the room, displacing an odd contraption that he was evidently wearing over his ears. Taking it off slowly and hanging it on a hook on the wall, his eyes rove from a stunned, flustered Opeli to the mysterious purple plant, then back to her. Then his eyes fall shut in resignation, and he finally speaks in a low voice.

“Dare I ask what you’re doing here, in my _private_ study, Lady Opeli?”

“Lord Viren! I...” she begins, then flounders, gripping the edge of the cage once more, feeling strangely...warm. “King Harrow, he, he needs you. Asked me to get you. I knocked, but you didn’t answer.” She can feel the blood rushing through each vein, it seems, and talking is such a peculiar challenge. Her lips are buzzing; her gums tingling where they brush against her teeth. She's never felt so aware of so many parts of her body: her wrists, the backs of her knees, the skin between her toes... She shakes her head slightly, blinking in confusion when she feels sweat begin to bead on the back of her neck, her throat, the small of her back. Why is her skin suddenly so _sensitive_? Has Viren always been this tall and lean?

“I didn’t hear you. I was focused on my work.” Viren hesitates, eyeing her closely, then takes a step forward. “Lady Opeli, how...do you feel?”

He’s never asked her that before. In all their years working alongside each other, only snide glances and clipped remarks, maybe a sarcastic compliment here and there to appease the King and Queen, trick them into believing their High Council was a harmonious one. No, only Harrow and Sarai were privy to Viren’s genuine smiles, whispered jokes that were, apparently, hilarious--if their responses were anything to go by. Opeli’s eyes narrow as she watches him approach. The nerve. The sheer nerve of this man, with his perfectly arched brows and long legs. Why should he suddenly care how she felt? 

“Opeli?” he asks, louder, dropping the honorific in his alarm. “This is important. Did you touch any part that purple plant?” His eyes flick to the one she certainly did _not_ touch, only--accidentally inhaled. Maybe she sneezed. So what? Viren is still approaching, and Opeli’s nostrils flare as she catches a whiff of something smoky, almost spicy, like the final log burning on a fire during a freezing winter’s night. Her eyes fall shut as she inhales it more deeply, finally giving into the urge to stretch her neck muscles, head rotating in a slow half-circle, which feels divine, and pulls goosebumps to the surface of her skin. She hears herself hum a small laugh, then her eyes fly open, skin burning as she remembers where she is, who she is with. Viren is even closer now, watching her like she’s a wild animal who may pounce at any moment. Gods, that smell was coming from _him_ ; how had she never noticed it before? His eyes are swift, appraising, and she knows that he probably knows something she doesn’t; this is his study, after all, and he knows these plants, but she is having trouble holding onto that thought because his eyes bear flecks of golden-green that she’d never noticed before, and his mouth is rigidly set, as usual, but his lips...they’re so pink…

_“Opeli!”_ he growls, though the effect is somewhat lessened by his scandalized expression, and she gasps out a hysterical laugh before clamping her hand over her mouth, feeling utterly intoxicated.“You’ve inhaled the garrowroot pollen. It’s addling your senses.”

Intellectually, she understands that what he is saying is capital-b-Bad, but his proximity is drowning out the actual meaning; her mouth has gone dry and her fingers ache to bury themselves in his thick brown hair, always so perfectly coiffed, desperate to see it tousled, for once. He’s always so buttoned up...she glances down and notices, to her surprise, that the top button of his robe is actually undone, exposing more of his neck than she’s ever seen before, and the answering flare of heat that blossoms from her belly is so overwhelming that she jerks backwards, a spike of clarity shooting through the fog, hitting the cage with her ankle and jarring the flower inside once more.

“No—!” Viren yells, lurching forward, attempting to slam the door shut, but more dust floats out before he can, landing gently on his nose, making him sneeze. His movements have brought him abruptly face to face with Opeli, his right arm awkwardly positioned over her left shoulder, hemming her in. He’s several inches taller than her, and she looks up at him with equal parts fascination and humor, despite reality setting in.

“Garrowroot pollen?” she asks finally, and he nods once, eyes clenched shut, shoulders taut, as if trying not to breathe.

“Yes. It is...an extremely potent substance.” His voice grows less clipped and panicked with every word, melting into something deeper, richer, warmer. “I was conducting an experiment earlier, and mistakenly left the door open.” He still hasn’t lowered his arm, Opeli notes, and his body is so close, so close to hers, a wholly shocking thought, and one that sends a pulsating thrum through every blood vessel, makes her breath come quicker. “You—I— _we_ shouldn’t have inhaled it.”

“What does it do?” she asks, swallowing, watching a slow bead of perspiration fall from his temple and drip down his cheek. The temptation is so strong to lean forward and taste it that she has to clench her fists, though her mouth falls open all the same. This was good. No, bad. She couldn’t remember exactly why, but this was not good, it was bad. 

“Opeli, it’s...a powerful aphrodisiac,” he grinds out with some difficulty, having trouble tearing his eyes away from her parted lips. “This isn’t—you shouldn’t be here right now. You and me, the pollen. It will make us—” He seems winded by the time he runs out of words, swallowing heavily and hanging his head. “Why, why are you still here.”

“I told you. I'm supposed to…” Opeli is really trying, but speaking is _hard_ and Viren’s robe is soft, so soft beneath her hands, because now she’s touching him, _oh no_ , her hands are caressing his shoulders, his chest, which is firm and surprisingly muscled. “Viren, make this stop...an antidote, you must have one.” Is that what she wants? To make this stop? She isn't sure. He has a very tiny smattering of light freckles across his nose, and they’re incredibly arresting. 

“I can’t.” His expression is a study in anguish. “It isn’t finished yet. I was...in the process. It’s not done, not safe.” He releases a low moan as Opeli’s fingers clench in his robes, pulling him closer. “I—this isn’t—Opeli, you don’t want this.”

She probably doesn’t, because Viren is an asshole, but she does, because she’s here, her defenses lowered by this mystery plant that set her desires before her on a silver platter and dared her not to take a bite, not to give in, not to indulge, like she never does, because she’s Lady Opeli of the High Council and has never colored outside the lines a day in her life. She should flee this room and put as much distance between her and Viren as she possibly can, but he’s warm and solid against her, and she doesn’t _care_ anymore what brought this about, only that his body remains pressed against hers, his lips, his teeth, grazing her throat, her arms twined around his neck, driven recklessly forward by the molten heat at her core. She gasps when he grabs her around the waist, clutching her tightly as she draws him down to capture his lips in a kiss, at first just a firm press, then open-mouthed plunder, their tongues performing a furious dance, groaning into each other’s mouths. The room is entirely too hot, burning, even, her clothes a ridiculous itch, and time begins to crawl and leap in strange ways as they continue to taste each other. At some point she stumbles forward and Viren backwards, blindly finding their way onto a desk that is abruptly rid of its papers and instruments, Opeli clambering onto Viren’s lap, straddling him as he comes to sit, pushing off her hood, shoving away her high collar, insinuating his hands into her hair as they continue the kiss, breathless. 

“Are you sure,” Viren pulls away to breathe, hands coming down to cradle her waist, burying his face in her neck with the desperation of a man dying of thirst. “I can stop. I can—”

“Don’t,” Opeli murmurs, grinding her hips downwards, dragging a frantic moan from Viren’s lips. “Keep going.” _Please_ , she doesn’t say, as she continues to undulate against him, but there are entirely too many layers of clothing in the way, and she gladly accepts his help in unbuttoning her robe, peeling her underclothes from her shoulders, standing so they can pool on the floor, leaving her utterly bare, skin gleaming in the yellow light. Her eyes fall shut as Viren immediately reaches out to touch, brushing fingertips across her shoulders, sweeping back to caress her collarbones, downward to tease her nipples, cup her pert breasts and knead them gently, making her cry out. She succumbs to the sensations for a while longer, before hurriedly pulling at the fastenings of his trousers, mouth positively watering as she eyes the sizable bulge tenting them, hungry to see it. When he kicks them off, she drops to her knees, punching a shocked laugh out of him.

“Are you s—”

“Lord Viren, stop talking,” she commands, and he clamps his mouth shut on another laugh, hissing as her tongue flickers out to catch the shining bead of fluid at the tip. She looks up at him and licks it again, and again, before closing her mouth around the head, sucking him down so hungrily he grunts, a broken off sound. She can only imagine the sight she makes, his glistening cock disappearing between her lips, and she smirks around him when he clenches one hand in her hair again, not directing, but present. She scrapes her nails slowly up his thighs, hollowing her cheeks as she flicks her eyes upward to meet his gaze. 

“I’m— _ah—_ mmm,” he begins brokenly, head falling back in agony, in bliss. “You should stop now, before I—”

She pulls off and stands, and Viren’s eyes widen to see one hand rubbing messily between her legs, fingers coated in slick. She gasps as he grabs her wrist, pulling her closer and sucking her fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste. They lock eyes as her fingers push further into his mouth, and the pure, feral need she sees reflected back at her sends another wave of want rushing through her. Their next kiss is more filthy than the first, teeth clacking together as they lick and bite and suck, Opeli making a quick work of divesting Viren of his clothes. He stands to accommodate her, and she barely has time to pull away and admire his naked form—much more solid than she would have guessed, and also more scarred—before he’s spinning her bodily around, raising her as if she weighs nothing and and lowering her onto the desk, dropping devouring kisses down her neck, sucking a pebbled nipple into his mouth. She can’t help the sharp cries that escape her, nor does she want to; it’s all too good, too good to pretend otherwise. The fact that it’s _Viren—_ upjumped, uptight Viren who is now gripping her thighs, sliding his hands upwards, spreading them and gazing hungrily at the point where they meet—is stoking this raging fire even more. Far beneath the overwhelming haze, she wonders how they will ever look each other in the face again after this, but every coherent thought is obliterated when Viren descends to lap at her wetness, beginning an assault with his lips and tongue that has Opeli scrabbling for purchase, fingers desperately gripping the edges of the desk, her hips straining upwards, but held down with his firm grip. She’s too far gone to feel any shame whatsoever about the increasingly needy moans and gasps pouring from her throat, and Viren only responds in turn when she buries a hand in his hair, twisting her fingers and pulling, pressing his face even more insistently into her cunt, mouth falling open as the vibrations of his moans reverberate against her clit. He pulls away only just enough to flick his tongue repeatedly over the hardened nub, fingers digging into her hips, the swell of her bottom, and she gives his hair another desperate tug as she feels her release begin to crash over her, struggling to form words.

“ _Viren_ , I’m— _waitwait_ , I’m—!” she gasps, trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let her, only shakes his head as he places a possessive hand across her belly, holding her in place. She can’t hold back a second a longer, tossing her head back as she thrusts upward, then freezes in total ecstasy as her orgasm thunders through her, wave after wave after wave. Viren holds her through it, tongue never slowing, and only pulls away when she slumps, breaths heaving as she recovers. His hair is a rumpled mess, and his face is utterly wrecked as he comes back into view, mouth shining with her juices, pupils dilated and black. She curls an arm around his neck, bringing him back down for a crushing kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. She gasps when she feels a blunt hardness at her entrance, and he pulls away momentarily, not before giving her lower lip a small bite.

“Can I—” he begins, and moans lowly when she latches her legs around his waist and tightens them, the head of his cock slipping easily into her hole. To her surprise, he releases a shaky laugh, jaw clenched as he continues to push in, slowly, clearly holding himself back. “Taking that as a yes.”

She barely has a moment to appreciate the uncharacteristic show of humor before he’s fully buried inside of her, the fullness making her cry out again, eager for more. “Come on, _Lord_ Viren,” she urges in a low voice, panting, and keens when he immediately complies, pulling nearly all the way out before shoving back inside, and again, fucking her at a rough, rhythmic pace that narrows the entire world to the point of where their bodies collide. He palms her breasts vigorously as he continues thrusting, his thumbs flicking her nipples, and Opeli can barely breathe, can barely think, just a live wire of nerve endings and depository for boundless pleasure. Their sharp cries rise in volume as the pace of their coupling increases, Opeli sitting up enough to brace herself on her elbows as her hips meet his, their combined juices making a complete mess of the desk. Viren’s face shifts dangerously as one hand comes up to loosely curl around Opeli’s throat, and she meets his eyes with a sharp grin, raising her head in an answering challenge.

"I can't—s-stand you," Opeli gasps, and Viren punches out a smug, breathless laugh.

"Yes, I know." His fingers slowly tighten, just past the point of pain, his cock driving into her at a punishing pace, and Opeli's head falls back as she cries out, coming helplessly undone. Her clit rubs against his pelvis with every push, propelling her ever closer to a second explosion, and all she can do is surrender to it, one hand rising to wrap around his outstretched forearm, gripping the tight muscles there as she begins to fall apart.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Viren grounds out, and the thrill of hearing him curse this way, the thrill of his thick hand still choking her as his thrusts grow more frenzied, more urgent, then freezing in place as he empties himself into her—it’s enough to push her over the edge a second time. Opeli gasps and moans, nearly to the point of sobs as Viren pulls out, warm jets of fluid sluicing out of her cunt in rhythmic pulses, Viren’s clever fingers massaging her clit through each contraction until she finally stills, completely spent. Long minutes later, after her vision has cleared and breathing has evened out, she removes the arm she’d apparently flung over her face and sits up, seeing Viren collapsed into a nearby chair, evidently as wrung dry as she feels.

Their eyes meet at the same time and they just watch each other for several tense seconds, silence stretching across the room. 

Well. 

That happened.

Viren clears his throat and stands, finally breaking her gaze and flushing deep crimson. “I trust you will keep this...incident...discreet.”

Opeli’s jaws clench, furious to feel herself blushing too. She cannot focus on the immediate ramifications of this right now; it's too much. She needs to not be naked anymore, immediately. That's step one. She busies herself with getting off the desk and swooping to the ground to retrieve her clothes, trying in vain to ignore the cool air on her exposed skin, skin that Viren had just had his hands all over, his teeth, his _tongue —_

“Opeli?” Viren asks, interrupting her train of thought. He’s dressing quickly too, and sounds rather unsure. 

“You can rest assured that this incident will not leave this room on my account.” She accidentally catches his eye as she slips into her robe, and is startled to find him hurriedly brushing away a smirk. “Is something funny?” she snaps.

Viren pauses, mouth opening and closing, and then he shakes his head slightly, lowering it as he adjusts the ties on the front of his trousers. Opeli can’t help but stare for a few seconds at the flat planes of his stomach, his clever fingers working the knot—and then he looks up again. “It’s just,” he begins, and Opeli forces herself to look as if she hadn’t been accidentally ogling him, “Of all the people to…uh, well.”

Opeli snorts loudly before she can keep it in, and then his lips twitch, and then they’re both bursting into embarrassed laughter, the kind that is near impossible to stop, and mercifully it breaks the torturous tension that had been building between them. 

“Why, exactly, were you down here again?” Viren asks, once they’ve settled, his face more open and relaxed than Opeli could ever recall seeing it. 

She gasps, one hand flying to her mouth. “King Harrow...he wanted to speak to you.” There’s a brief pause as they both do the mental calculation—how long had they been—?

“Well. Alright,” Viren says, mostly to himself, clearly agitated. His eyes scan the room quickly, readying to leave, and then he emits a weird sort of choking sound, staring at the desk they’d recently vacated.

Opeli looks too, and flushes a brilliant red at the copious mess they’d made. “Don’t you have a—?!” she waves a hand idly, glancing around desperately for a rag, a towel, something, anything. To her absolute dismay, she feels a residual tingle at her core at the memory of falling apart beneath Viren’s hands (more than once, a traitorous voice whispers), and stops to consider, for the first time, that simply succumbing to the pollen’s urges might not have eliminated it from her system entirely. Before she can voice her concerns, Viren is performing a spell, eyes glowing purple as sibilant nonsense spills from his lips, causing the mess to vanish. When he looks at her, she shudders to see his eyes fade to black, and then back to normal.

“Quicker,” he shrugs, and then he turns to leave. “Let’s go, I believe we’ve kept him waiting quite long enough.”

Still shaken, but inclined to agree, Opeli follows him out, and they make their way through the quiet halls and stairways in silence. They pass several other members of court, who all greet them politely, if puzzled; they are not typically seen together outside of mandatory meetings. Thankfully, they are utterly ignorant of the depravities Viren and Opeli just engaged in, and it isn’t until they are right outside the main royal doors that Opeli notices with a small measure of panic that Viren’s untidy hair still bears the evidence of those activities. 

“ _Wait_ , Viren,” she whispers harshly, and he turns, eyes narrowed in question. Without thinking, she reaches up to comb her fingers through the thick locks, smoothing them back into place, and only stops when she sees the shocked look Viren is giving her, frozen in place. She yanks her hand away, cursing herself.

“When does this pollen wear _off?”_ she demands through clenched teeth, cheeks pink, and he looks confused as he finishes making himself look presentable. 

“It—” he’s looking at her closely, then his gaze falls to the ground, pensive. “It should have worn off by now, since we—”

“Lord Viren, Lady Opeli, shall I announce you to the King?” one of the guards interrupts, and they turn in unison, mouths clamped shut. The guard flicks his eyes between them, but otherwise, his face doesn’t relay any suspicion. The other guard keeps his eyes trained firmly ahead.

“Yes, thank you,” Viren answers smoothly, and he shoots Opeli a warning glance as the guard nods and pulls open the door. “We’ll discuss this later,” he murmurs from the corner of his mouth. Opeli rolls her eyes; did he think she was going to talk about this in front of the king? 

“King Harrow, Lady Opeli and Lord Viren are here,” the guard calls out, and Harrow looks up from a scroll he’d been reading, grinning as he rises to stand.

“Finally! I thought I would have to send someone after you, Lady Opeli!” Harrow laughs as he ushers them in. “You were gone so long, what happened?”

Opeli’s heart races and she opens her mouth, completely at a loss. Lying has never come easily to Opeli. “Your...Majesty, I apologize,” she stutters. “I—”

“No matter. Do you mind if I speak with Lord Viren privately? I promise I’ll send him back to you when we’re done,” Harrow jokes, clamping a hand on Viren’s shoulder and sending Opeli a friendly smile. Opeli returns the smile stiffly and bows, accidentally catching Viren’s eye before she turns. The mage is watching her with an expression that she can’t place, but no matter, the sooner she leaves this room, the better. Once outside the doors, she exhales slowly, trying to quell her racing heart. At some point she will have to come face to face with Viren again, she knows. She will need to figure out how to handle this new dynamic while maintaining her sanity. Until then, maybe a walk outside will clear her head.

“If the king asks, I have gone for a stroll,” Opeli informs the guard who had admitted them. “I will be back shortly.”

“Very good, my lady,” he responds, watching her quickly stride away, before wordlessly extending one hand, palm raised. And the other guard sighs, shaking his head as he drops several coins into it.

  
  



	2. it suits you, you know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which everyone has the hots for Viren (#relatable). don't ask me where any of the kids are, I can't read suddenly, I don't know...

“Everything alright, Viren?” Harrow asks, voice lowering as the door closes behind Opeli. “You seem on edge. Well, more than usual.”

Viren dodges the king’s elbow aimed for his side and huffs a small laugh, ignoring the jab. “I’m alright.” For once he’s glad for the punishingly high collars of his royal attire; the marks Opeli left on his neck seem to pulse in time with his heartbeat. “Tell me why you needed me.” 

Harrow shoots him a brief, heated look, then leads him over to one of the small annexes of the throne room where he takes his small councils. “Sit. Drink,” he offers, waving a hand in the direction of a waiting jug of wine, two full glasses. “And then tell me how our little experiment is coming along.” He collapses into a cushioned chair positioned by the window, the late afternoon sun illuminating the rich brown tones of his skin, glinting off the golden coils set into his locks. He takes a sip from his goblet, watching Viren expectantly.

“Funny you should ask,” Viren starts, then hesitates. “I...have begun making some progress, but need to perfect the formula before I feel comfortable handing it over.” He does his best to regulate his breathing, hyper-aware of Harrow’s discerning gaze; he’d never been able to hide anything from him. Today seemed like a great time to start, considering. “How is Sarai?” he asks, attempting to gently pivot, busying himself with sitting across from the king, taking a grateful sip of his wine.

Harrow sighs, drums his fingers of his unoccupied against the arm of the chair. “Frustrated. A...little embarrassed, I think.”

“She has nothing to feel embarrassed about.”

“I know that. You know that. And even _she_ knows that, deep down. But I can’t control the petty chatter of the court...I know she is feeling pressured to... _produce a royal heir_.” He delivers the final words with sarcasm, though the truth of it hangs heavy between them.

“I should have the formula ready soon, your majesty,” Viren assures him after a tense moment, brushing aside, as always, the slight pang of jealousy. 

“Soon, meaning…?”

Viren hums, thinking. “Within the fortnight, I am certain.”

Harrow winces, then breathes a small sigh. “Very well. I know she was hoping for a winter pregnancy, but if all goes well, she can conceive on her next cycle.” He takes another sip, glancing at Viren, and then lowers his goblet, concerned. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What?” He knows he answered too quickly and too loud, but he had to, over the sudden rush of blood in his ears, drowning out the next question Harrow asks. _Pregnancy_. The word jackhammers across his mind, wreaking internal havoc. How the _hell_ could he have been so negligent—he knows how dangerously effective garrowroot is, even in that intoxicated state, and yet he didn’t stop to consider, for one moment—

“Viren, you’re white as a sheet.” Harrow sets down his goblet with a heavy thud, leaning forward with a concerned frown. “Will you tell me what’s going on? Does it have anything to do with that strange energy between you and Lady Opeli? Did you finally act on all of that supposed hatred?“ Harrow chuckles, then freezes, noticing Viren’s involuntary flinch. _“No.”_

Viren buries his head in his hands, muffling a humiliated groan. 

_“Wait._ Wait, wait, wait.”

“It was an unfortunate mishap.”

“You’re telling me she _unfortunately mishapped_ onto your—”

“Your Majesty!”

Harrow rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and watching Viren with a mischievous smirk. “Your Majesty, nothing. Tell me what happened. Explain it to me like I’m five.”

Viren groans again, scrubbing at his face, as if to drive the persistent pink flush away. He knows how much of a kick Harrow gets out of his blushing, which only serves to send another flare of heat up his neck. Damn it all to hell, he needed to get the man off his back so he could go back to his study and brew the potion for Opeli that common fucking sense (the first thing to flee in the wake of that damnable pollen) should have dicatated immediately...afterwards.

“Well, when a man and a woman accidentally inhale a highly powerful aphrodisiac—” Viren begins sarcastically, and chokes on air at Harrow’s questioning eyebrow, the accompanying second punch of heat to his gut. Well, it wasn’t like he could have expected him to forget. “Okay, well in _this_ case, a man and a woman—”

“Get on with it, Viren.”

“I mean...that’s really the whole story.” He has never felt so much like the impulsive, reckless twenty-something-year-old he once was, his only consolation being that the person sitting across from him was often his accomplice to many ill-advised adventures. “Hence our, ah, delayed arrival.”

“Something was up, that much was obvious. Lady _Opeli_...the wonders never cease.” Harrow shook his head wonderingly, giving Viren a slow once-over. “Well? How was it?”

“Harrow, I hardly think—”

“ _Stop_ playing coy with me, Viren.”

And it was that voice, the _timber_ of it, that immediately signaled Harrow would brook no further argument, that he was not to be questioned. Even in jest, it always stopped Viren short, left him pliant and ready, even eager, to do his bidding. High mage may be his official title, but Viren knew and Harrow knew who held the real power over whom. Viren clenches his jaw, leveling a half-glare at the man, knowing himself beaten. “Shockingly competent.”

“Competent? Don’t sell yourself short, my friend. I know you. So, ‘competent’ on your end, or hers?”

“I wouldn’t presume on her behalf. Though we can call her back in here, if you’d like to cross-examine her as well.” 

“ _You’d_ like that, wouldn’t you?” Harrow snickers. “Tell the truth. Don’t forget, I remember when you were still green around the gills. You’ve come a long way since then. I know a certain queen who would back me up on this point.”

“Yes, well.” Viren wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam rising from his ears. “By my estimation, she enjoyed herself.”

Harrow raised an eyebrow.

Viren can’t help himself; he waits a beat, then: “Twice.” 

As Harrow bursts into triumphant laughter, Viren can’t help but imagine Opeli’s face, should she find out that he was talking about this with the _king_ , of all people. To be fair, he was doing his best not to share any salacious details. Harrow was more than capable of filling in the blanks...and besides, he didn’t have much more time to sit around gossiping like an old maid, he had matters to attend to. Rather urgent ones. 

“Well, I must say I’m happy for you,” Harrow beams, draining his goblet, then rises from his chair. “I honestly can’t imagine how you two will interact from here on out, but I know it will prove entertaining. My god, Sarai will have a fit.”

Ah, Sarai. He would never, ever live this down; she could be worse than her husband. “Your empathy, as ever, knows no bounds, Your Majesty,” Viren intones wryly, as he stands to follow Harrow out of the private chamber. Rather than head directly out of the door, however, Harrow stops short and turns, giving Viren the kind of small, playful smile that used to plague his dreams on a nightly basis. Flustered at their abrupt closeness, he freezes, grey eyes boring into honey brown. 

“It suits you, you know?” Harrow murmurs, shocking Viren speechless when he leans in, brushing his lips over Viren’s cheek, smiling at the resulting small gasp. 

Has the entire world gone mad? Viren exhales shakily, powerless to do anything but sway closer. Gods, it’d been so long…He remembers with a jolt that it’s his turn to speak. “Wha—?” Solid effort.

“This...hmm, how should I put it? Thoroughly _fucked_ look. I’ve always loved it.” Harrow hums appreciatively, nipping gently at Viren’s chin, sliding rough fingers through his hair. “You should indulge a little more, my friend. It’s good for you.” And then he’s out the door, shooting Viren one final heated look before walking away, back to his throne. 

Viren groans under his breath, taking a second to compose himself. If he didn’t know better, he would think that the pollen had somehow gotten to Harrow, but no, this is just how he _is_ , far from the prying eyes of the court, though he certainly hadn’t seen this side of him in quite some time. When it rains, it pours, apparently. 

By the time he passes the throne, Harrow is listening intently to two lower members of the council, every picture the honorable, respectable King of Katolis. His eyes raise to Viren’s briefly, and he inclines his head, all playfulness gone.

“Lord Viren.” 

“Your Majesty.”

When he exits the castle doors, he can’t help but glance around, idly wondering where Opeli might have gone. He’ll need to give her the necessary potion as soon as it’s brewed, and he would really rather not have to go on a search; too risky. One of the guards clears his throat, and he glances in his direction.

“She has gone for a stroll, my lord,” he states, and Viren gives him an odd look.

“Who has?” God, was he that obvious? The guard looks startled, then miserably contrite.

“Apologies, my lord...I meant Lady Opeli. I—I thought—”

“Did I ask you her whereabouts?” Viren snarls quietly, taking a step closer to the guard, who visibly shrinks in his armor. Who was this imbecile guarding the king? Viren makes a mental note to have him replaced, sent to mind one of the stables. “I recommend you keep your presumptions to yourself. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord.”

When Viren has disappeared down the winding staircase, the guard slumps. His companion glances over with a gloating smirk.

“You know, I could have told you—”

_“Shut. Up.”_

_//_

  
  


Viren is roughly half-finished with the potion when he hears the doorknob to his study rattle loudly, followed by a frantic knocking that continues until he sets down his instruments, crosses the room, and opens the door. Opeli is standing there, hand still raised in a fist, expression thunderous. She shoulders her way in before Viren can open his mouth.

“You were sure to lock the door this time,” she grouses, looking entirely pissed off and entirely ill at ease. Viren sighs slowly, closing the door and securing the lock once more. He’d been expecting her, frankly, and had no idea what state she’d be in when she arrived. 

“Yes, well, recent events have alerted me to the dangers of lax security,” he replies, watching her fidget. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here, or will you make me guess?”

She levels a glare at him that nearly singes off his eyebrows. “Guess.” Wow. He had no idea her voice could go that deep. 

Viren rolls his eyes, conveniently setting aside his momentary panic during his earlier conversation with Harrow. He had to admit, it was much too easy, and often too fun, to goad this woman. Though he supposed considering the circumstances, he should probably rein it in a little. 

“You can rest easy, Lady Opeli.” He heads back to the table where he’d been working, picking up the decanter of pale blue liquid and holding it up to the light. “I’m nearly finished with a potion that will eliminate...any cause for worry.”

Her nostrils flare for a moment, face coloring as she takes in the various vials of liquid, chopped herbs, and parchment littered across the tabletop. Then she begins to pace, arms crossed tightly over her chest, shooting occasional glances at Viren working, as if working up the nerve to speak.

Viren drops a powdered root into the infusion, nods with satisfaction when it gives the expected hiss. Swirling it gently, he looks up at the same time she happens to be looking at him, feeling slightly unsettled, as always, by that fierce amber gaze. “Do you have something you’d like to say,” Viren questions, “Or do you plan to wear a hole in my floor?”

“Do I have—” Opeli splutters, then shuts her mouth abruptly, stopping in her tracks and visibly taking a breath. It’s quite fascinating; he’s never seen her so on edge. Well. Not in this way. “ _Why_ do you have that infernal plant?” she bursts out, the dam breaking. “Has it...when will it...I want to be sure that it has left my system entirely. Are there any other—side effects?” She ends on a rather more pathetic note than the strong one she’d started on, and knows it, spots of pink appearing in her cheeks as she turns partially away from his view. It’s a strangely vulnerable sight, one that compels Viren to speak much more softly than he normally would have.

“I have a great variety of plants; it is a part of my duties as High Mage to be well-versed in their properties and effects,” he states, as he slices a pale green herb into thin slivers. Once he drops them into the decanter, he chances a look at her, gauging how best to phrase his next question. “Can you...tell me how you feel right now?”

Opeli starts, opening her mouth and then shutting it, still mostly concealing her face from view. “Vexed.”

Viren’s lips twitch. “Quite,” he responds lightly. “I think you know what I mean, though. Do you still feel any attraction?” They both hear the ‘to me’ that he doesn’t say. 

The heavy silence is answer enough, and Viren turns his attention back to the potion, ignoring the sudden small curl of heat that settles in his gut. “Lady Opeli, that pollen affects people in all sorts of ways, depending on a number of factors, including body weight, psychological and emotional disposition, tolerance for...intoxicants, and so on. You don’t strike me as one to overindulge, so—”

Opeli shifts slightly, arching an imperious eyebrow at him. “Meaning _what_ , exactly?”

“I am simply trying to say that it’s very likely you are susceptible to its effects. So you have no reason to feel—”

“And I suppose you _feel_ nothing,” Opeli snaps, then shakes her head with a small groan of dismay, covering her face momentarily with her hands. “Don’t—don’t answer that. Please.”

“As you wish.” Her humiliation is palpable, but thankfully, he’s nearly finished and soon they will both be able to get on with their lives. Separately.

Aside from his sudden inability to think about anything but the intensity of their lovemaking earlier; how loudly she had made her pleasure known, and he chances a glance at her, wondering how much of that was the pollen and how much had been there all along. 

“I have never,” she begins suddenly, shaking her head slowly as she takes a deep, fortifying breath. “Done _anything_ like that. I’m a little out of sorts...if that wasn’t obvious.” She shoots him a small smile that’s more like a grimace, and he’s startled to find she has a dimple in her left cheek. 

Mind reeling, Viren gapes at her. “You don’t mean...that wasn’t your first time—“ 

Opeli interrupts with a shocked laugh, then poorly attempts to straighten her features, making the dimple even more prominent. “Wow. _No._ No, that’s not what I…”

“Apologies,” Viren mumbles, embarrassed. 

“Is that really what you think of me? A stiff, sexless old crone?” Viren looks up again to detect if she’s angry, but there’s still a small smile on her lips, and he is pleasantly surprised by her candor, a welcome change from her typical holier-than-thou disposition. 

After a brief pause, eyes trained on his work: “I wouldn’t say _old_.” 

“You’re awful.”

“It’s been said.”

They lapse into an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes, while Opeli inspects the various instruments and books in his study. He has half a mind to tell her to mind her business, out of habit, but finds he doesn’t particularly mind her snooping. There are a few instances where he needs to let the potion lie dormant for a minute or two while a particular ingredient does its work, and he uses those moments as an excuse to watch her. 

Subtly. 

It wasn’t as if he’d never taken notice of Opeli’s appeal. But it was rather easier to ignore the way she gently bit her bottom lip when she was deep in thought, or the slight scrunch her nose did when she glared at someone—usually, him. She carried herself with the kind of quiet, dignified elegance he usually associated with elves, which may explain why he took issue with her haughty attitude from the outset. He never did like elves, and didn’t see that ever changing.

And then there was that disturbingly alluring scent of hers, a dizzying blend of soft lavender and a sharp, tangy citrus—orange? grapefruit?—that he could have happily gone the rest of his life not smelling. Because now, as he regards her furrowing her brows over an ancient tome, brushing her fingers over the dusty cover and releasing a sudden sneeze, he realizes with startling clarity that he’d really, really like to smell it again. He has another flashback to their drugged assignation only several hours before, the sounds she’d made when he finally stopped resisting and dragged his tongue along her throat, tasting her—and then, only a short while later, _tasting_ her—

He clears his throat loudly, moreso to disrupt this disastrous train of thought than to get her attention, but she whirls around anyway, mid-page turn. 

“I didn’t mean to pry,” she lies, her eyes shifting guiltily. “You keep an unusual library.” 

Viren grinds his teeth for a moment, silently getting himself back under control. “I have a wide variety of interests.”

“Yes, the king relies on you for your vast knowledge,” she muses, her tone slipping into sarcasm. Viren feels a bubble of annoyance, and almost laughs in relief for it. 

“Correct.” He doesn't try to hide his smugness, smiling to himself when she shoots him a disgusted look. “We all have our role to play, my lady.”

“Don’t _my lady_ me,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and putting the book back on its shelf and then leaning against it and crossing her arms, drumming her fingers against her forearms contemplatively. “So am I to surmise that the reason you so unwisely left that cage door open is because you were in the middle of experimenting with it?”

He shoots her a curious look, nods. “Yes. Though I might add that an open cage is not necessarily an invitation, especially when it’s within one’s private study.”

“Do you perform these experiments on yourself?” she rejoins smoothly, ignoring his pointed aside. 

The potion shimmers as he adds one drop of diluted nightshade. Viren watches it closely; this is a critical juncture. He would also rather avoid her eyes if she is going to persist in this line of questioning. “I am familiar with the pollen’s side effects,” he hedges. 

“Aside from the obvious,” Opeli begins, a light blush appearing in her cheeks, “what else is it used for?”

“Are you in the market?” Viren can’t help asking, and, god help him, he _grins_ when she shoots him that glare that he knows so well. It’s a strange feeling. But, that nose scrunch. 

“Certainly not,” she responds, visibly flustered, unable to meet his eyes, smoothing her robes unnecessarily. “I was simply curious.”

Indeed. “Depending on the dosage and the manner in which it’s prepared, garrowroot can give the user temporary feelings of euphoria, it can ease minor ills, and certain varietals can even affect dreams,” he explains, eyeing the decanter, then setting it back down. “It can also assist in, mmm, promoting fertility.”

“Ah,” Opeli says lightly, coming over to the table and watching Viren work, meeting his questioning gaze with an ironic smile. “On _that_ note...how is this coming along?”

“It only needs one final touch.” Viren pours the now metallic blue potion into a small cup, then places it inside of a ring of precious stones. His eyes glow purple as he extends a hand over the cup, speaking the ancient words that will activate its properties, painlessly staunch any life that may already be attempting to grow inside her.

When his eyes clear, she’s watching him with that all-too familiar fearful expression, mingled with disgust.

“You really hate dark magic,” he remarks, amused, picking up the cup and extending it in her direction. “And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are,” she concedes ruefully, taking the proffered cup. Their fingers brush and—linger, for a moment, before she clears her throat and brings it closer, sniffing its contents. “This would be an exceptionally easy way to poison me, I suppose,” she muses, almost to herself, and Viren chuckles. She catches his eye with an uncharacteristic smirk, then drains the cup, swallowing heavily.

“Will it hurt?” she asks, eyes closed, as if bracing for impact. 

“No.” Brewed normally, it would have taken half the time and effort, and she would have been assured a long, agonizing night with all manner of unpleasant emissions. He decides to keep that fact to himself. 

She licks her lips contemplatively. “That...wasn’t terrible.” Placing the cup back on the table, she takes a breath, as if steeling herself to speak. “I know that we haven’t always been...on the best of terms, but I appreciate this. I wouldn’t have expected this kindness, if I am being honest.”

Viren winces. “Well, considering this affects us both rather urgently—“

“Right.”

“Yes.”

Opeli pauses again, then laughs softly, shaking her head. “Well, then.” She looks at him rather searchingly, lips curled into an almost shy smile. “A truce, my lord?”

Without hesitation, Viren extends his hand, meeting her eyes as she places her palm in his, her skin warm and soft. We should have done this years ago, he doesn’t say, but he knows that his mirth is showing in his expression, because it’s reflected back at him in that dimple reappearing, and now that he’s noticed it his eyes can’t help but travel to her mouth, and he remembers in stunning clarity the way it opened up beneath his, drawing him in, so warm and so wet—her hand clenches in his and his eyes snap back up to meet hers, and the heat in her expression shoots straight down to his cock and Viren is suddenly glad for the table between them because otherwise—

“I should—“ Opeli whispers, then clears her throat, wrenches her gaze away from him and drops his hand. “I should go. Thank you...Viren.”

Viren doesn’t trust his mouth, doesn’t trust himself enough to walk her to the door without doing something terribly stupid, so he stays silent and still, merely inclining his head politely. She gives him one final look, then opens the door, and is gone.

// 

Opeli loves Queen Sarai dearly, but she cannot help but eagerly anticipate the end of this night. Being entrusted with such a grand affair as a royal birthday celebration was an absolute honor—particularly this one, with the entire kingdom thrilled for the eventual arrival of the royal heir—but an exhausting one, as well. 

“Lady Opeli, what shall we do with the 300 bouquets? Master Granger refuses to let the florists into the great hall until it is properly cleaned.”

“Lady Opeli, the dancers from Duren need a quiet, private place to rehearse; where should we send them?”

“Lady Opeli—“

“One moment, Neera, please,” Opeli snaps, lifting her head from where it’s cradled in her hands, trying and failing to will herself out of a powerful migraine. Six hours to go. Every problem that’s been presented to her has been solved, or is on its way to being solved, and she had vainly hoped for at least thirty minutes to gather herself, maybe decide on a dress for tonight, as the seamstress has dropped off her options nearly a week ago, and clear her head with a stroll of the grounds before the preparations began in earnest. But that was not to be, apparently, because here came another issue for her to fix.

The young maidservant stood in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder nervously before turning back to address Opeli. “I’m sorry, my lady, it’s just—Lord Viren had hoped—”

“Lord Viren?” Opeli’s stomach does a sudden, violent twist as she stands, clenching her fists against the sudden urge to run her fingers through her hair. _Get a hold of yourself._ Neera bows low as she opens the door wider and steps out, admitting Viren, who gives Opeli a slow nod. He’s rather...shaggier than he was when she last saw him, which was something like three months ago; he’d been on a series of diplomatic visits to each of the other human kingdoms at Harrow’s bidding, and had allowed his hair to grow out longer than usual, as well as his beard, apparently. It made him appear both older and more...roguish, or, maybe another word that Opeli can’t summon at the moment, for whatever reason. “You’re back,” she says uselessly, reeling from his sudden appearance.

“Only just. We met a nasty storm a week ago, which slowed us down,” he says, stepping in further and looking around. “I think the King would send me into exile if I missed this party, though.”

“Perhaps only for a year or two.” They share a small smile, and Opeli breathes a gentle sigh of relief that they seem to have fallen back into their still rather new, alarmingly...pleasant dynamic. The first few days after that fateful encounter with the pollen was about as awkward as could be expected, but thankfully their respective duties took them out of each other orbits for quite some time. But when a sudden outbreak of a mysterious disease in the northern region of Katolis broke out, King Harrow summoned High Council to work together day and night to come to a definitive solution. Being in such close proximity to Viren was unsettling at first, having gained such intimate knowledge of him followed by weeks of little to no contact, but Opeli found, to her annoyance, that the personality quirks that previously irritated her now seemed rather petty. Those smug retorts, his secrets exchanged with the King, the heavy sighs when someone offered a suggestion he deemed idiotic—they did rather lose their sting when he grudgingly, then enthusiastically, backed Opeli’s suggestion to aggressively contain the illness before it could spread further. With Viren’s herbal and magical acumen, they were able to organize a highly efficient distribution system for both medicine for the infected and a tonic to build rapid immunity in the healthy. It was hard, taxing work, and shortly after receiving the final word that they had successfully wiped out the disease, Viren had been called away. Opeli didn’t know he’d gone until hours later, and didn’t connect it to her sour mood until now, seeing him standing in her study, hair windswept and lightly streaked with grey. She wants to mention it, maybe even make a joke about it, but it’s so fiercely alluring she feels it’s better to leave the matter untouched. “Your visits went well, I take it?”

“The human kingdoms have never been stronger, or more united,” he replies, sounding pleased. He stoops to survey a book on one of the lower shelves. “I was met with friendship in every court. Is this in the original Enochian?” he asks suddenly, pulling out a small, leather-bound book, turning to regard her with surprise. 

Amused and curious, Opeli moves closer to get a better look. “Yes, although I will admit I haven’t been able to read it cover to cover, as such,” she tells him, plucking the book from his hands, flipping it over to examine it. She’d quite forgotten this was here—a holdover from her more mystic phase, nearly a decade ago. “Do you know it?”

“This book in particular, no.” It’s an inconsequential tome, a small book of poetry, one Opeli had found wandering a random roadside merchant’s stop in a kingdom across sea. Viren hums thoughtfully as he steps closer, head tilting to take in the golden lettering on the back cover. “Are you a poet?”

“Not anymore.” Opeli hadn’t meant to answer so honestly, but the faint scent of woodsmoke is playing merry hell with her nerves and inhibition. Her mouth goes dry when Viren looks at her with genuine surprise in his eyes; feels another tug in her stomach—this time, slow and sweet—when he shoots her an inquisitive smile.

“So you _were,”_ he says slowly, and he’s still standing so close, as if this were normal, as if he has nothing else to do to occupy his time than stand here, this close, talking to Opeli. “How does one stop being a poet?”

“The same way you stop doing many things, I suppose,” Opeli replies shortly, heart hammering in her chest as she turns away to put the book back on the shelf. "You just stop." This is...not right, she is not thinking clearly, she does not trust herself not to do something she will later regret. Again. When she straightens, Viren’s signature unaffected, haughty look has slid back into place. Good.

“I won’t impose on you any longer, Lady Opeli,” he says smoothly. “I will see you this evening.”

Opeli nods and does _not_ watch him make a swift exit.

  
  


//

“Lady Opeli! Stop working. This celebration is _perfect_ ; you are officially off the hook,” Queen Sarai calls out, waving Opeli over. The sky has long since fallen dark behind the hall’s great windows, and the company inside reflects it: largely devoid of the elder, more traditional members of the court and the great families, as well as the children; lively music continues to play as the rest of the partygoers dance and chatter loudly, enjoying generous amounts of the country’s finest wines. Despite a last-minute situation involving the hired acrobats which had thankfully been resolved without creating a blip in the evening’s proceedings, Opeli is on high alert, surveying the many tables, keeping an eye on the wine and dessert levels, the circulating servants and servers, trying to forestall any possible disaster. But when her Queen calls, she must answer.

“Your Majesty,” she offers demurely, giving a brief bow across from the head table. Most of the High Court is gone, socializing in various corners around the expansive hall, but Queen Sarai looks quite content watching it all from her vantage point. 

“Come, re _lax_ ,” Sarai chides her, pulling out the seat beside her with a cajoling smile, and Opeli beams, making her way around the table to sit in the offered seat. The moment she does, Queen Sarai places a full wine glass in her hand.

“Lady Opeli, how can I begin to thank you? This night was everything I could have dreamed,” Sarai says sincerely, giving her arm a gentle squeeze, her cheeks pink with joy. She rests a hand on her rounded, protruding belly with a happy sigh. “One last hurrah, all for myself, before this little rascal joins us.”

Opeli huffs a small laugh, trying to quickly adjust to this new openness from the queen; delighted to have been allowed this privileged place. “It was my honor, your majesty,” she says, glancing down at the wine. She hadn’t touched a drop all night, unwilling to let alcohol cloud her judgment during such a high-stakes evening.

“I said, you’re off the hook,” Sarai murmurs, nudging Opeli, correctly guessing the direction of her thoughts. “Please, as a final gift to me, Lady Opeli. _Drink that wine_.”

Opeli laughs out loud this time, lifting the glass. “I am obedient to my queen,” she jokes, grinning into the rim when Sarai echoes her laughter. Once she takes a generous sip, Sarai nods approvingly, settling back into her chair with a contented sigh.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to dance next?” Sarai chuckles at the half-aggrieved, half-distressed look Opeli gives her, patting her on the shoulder. “I’m joking. I think. But truly, Lady Opeli, you deprive the good people of this court the pleasure of your company!”

Opeli takes another sip, suppressing a snort. “Your Majesty is too kind.”

“Please, call me Sarai. The your majesty thing makes me feel ancient!”

“Sarai.” Opeli tests it out, a small thrill. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you flatter me.”

“Oh—” Sarai waves a hand at her in mock dismissal. “If you insist. One would really think,” she says playfully, looking out over the crowd, “That life in the High Council was demanding enough that my members would enjoy a break every once in a while! But noooo, look, there’s Lord Bailey, arguing with Lord Nyron again, there’s Lord Viren, sulking prettily in a corner, as usual, and here you are, my lovely wallflower. Oh well, at least you’re drinking. Come, come,” she scolds, eyes glittering mischievously. “It’s a vintage from my hometown; don’t let it go to waste!”

Opeli obeys gratefully, eyes skittering away from the queen’s, hoping the sudden warmth in her face isn’t obvious in the dim lights of the hall. She chances a glance to the side of the hall she’d been resolutely ignoring all night: Viren is, indeed, sulking, though he also appears to be nursing a glass of wine, ignoring the conversations around him. Until King Harrow steps over and grasps him tightly around the shoulders, grinning and saying something that makes Viren shake his head and roll his eyes, smiling nonetheless. Opeli takes another large sip of wine, realizing with a jolt that she’d been staring for far too long when Viren’s eyes suddenly meet hers from across the room—and Sarai giggles under her breath.

“It suits him, doesn’t it?” she whispers conspiratorially, and Opeli freezes. 

“I’m sorry?” Her wine is nearly gone, which is a problem. The music suddenly seems to get louder, and the lights dimmer, but maybe that’s her low tolerance talking instead. She can’t believe she’s been that obvious, and in the front of the queen, of all people.

_“You_ know,” Sarai needles in a low sing-song voice, giving Opeli a gentle shove. If Opeli didn’t know any better, she’d think Sarai had indulged in some wine herself, but no, this was just her personality. Opeli had just never had the opportunity to witness it from this close. “Our _magical_ friend with the sexy new beard and very tuggable hair.”

_“Sarai,”_ Opeli can’t help but gasp, feeling herself turn absolutely bright red this time. Sarai’s laughter rings out as she clutches at Opeli’s shoulder, shaking with mirth. 

“Your _face_!” Sarai giggles, calming down, fanning her face with a sigh. “Priceless. Oh, it’s hot.” Sarai grimaces suddenly, shifting in her chair, then sighs again. “Okay, I’m going to corral my adorable flirt of a husband and take these aching bones to bed. And you, my dear—” Sarai pulls her in for a brief hug, then turns to whisper in her ear. “You should indulge, a little bit. You deserve it.” 

Before Opeli can gather her scattered wits to respond, Sarai stands to leave, two maidservants appearing out of absolutely nowhere to help her down the stairs. Cheers immediately go up from the crowd, which Sarai accepts with a wide grin, shaking hands with her friends, family, and guests as she slowly makes her way over to King Harrow. When a server drifts over holding a bottle of wine, Opeli nods at his inquiring look, eyes unseeing as she takes a sip. Had the queen really called King Harrow a... _flirt_? What did that mean? Flirting with who, exactly? And why was she so confident in the fact that Opeli held any...regard for Viren whatsoever? Did their lack of outright disdain truly suggest something so prurient? Was the entire court whispering about them? No, Neera would have told her; she always relayed any pertinent or potentially explosive gossip to Opeli. Then...did Sarai have certain knowledge that she shouldn’t have?

Opeli’s eyes dart back to the corner of the hall where Viren is talking to both King Harrow and Queen Sarai, the usual threesome, though now, her mind ablaze with suspicion, their private conversation and laughter seem ever more ominous. And when Viren catches her eye once more while Harrow says something into his ear, Sarai watching the two of them with barely concealed glee while she twirls a lock of Harrow’s hair, Opeli sees red. 

Shoving her chair aside and rushing from the high table, Opeli makes a beeline for Neera, who is already standing as she watches Opeli’s furious approach.

“My lady?”

“I’ve concluded my evening,” Opeli says stiffly, and continues toward the door, Neera quickly falling into step. From her peripheral vision, she sees Viren push off the wall and watch her sudden exit, but she does not falter. 

“Is everything alright, my lady?” Neera asks timidly, glancing up at Opeli. 

Opeli shakes her head once, grinds her teeth. “I just need to rest. Fetch guards; I don’t want to be disturbed once I—”

“Lady Opeli!” No. No. Despite her anger and humiliation, the sound of his voice sends a delicious shock down her spine, and she whirls on the spot, facing a swiftly approaching Viren, who looks confused. She stays silent as he reaches them. “I had hoped we could speak tonight,” he says, giving Neera a fleeting glance. 

Opeli inhales slowly, considers slapping him, decides against it. For now. He notices the twitch in her hand and she is immensely gratified to see him flinch. “Neera, return to the party. I’m fine.”

“My lady?”

“Go.” When she’s satisfied with the girl’s distance, Opeli fixes Viren with a withering gaze. “What.”

“You’re angry,” he says slowly, eyebrows rising. “Can we speak somewhere more private?”

“Why would I want to do that? So you can run back to the king and queen and relay our entire conversation?”

Viren winces, sighs, gestures to a nearby empty room. “Please. Opeli.”

Curiosity winning out over anger, Opeli stalks inside, turning to face him when he closes the door securely. “ _You_ are the one who asked _me_ to be discreet."

“Have you ever been questioned by the king?” Viren bursts out, visibly frustrated. “I am asking you, genuinely.”

“No,” Opeli replies uncertainly, taken aback. “When—when did he—”

“Immediately after.” Viren flushes a dull pink, but doesn’t look away. “He and I are...close. It’s not unusual for him to feel entitled to my private affairs. I withheld the details, if that is any comfort.”

Opeli clutches the back of a nearby chair for support, feeling rather as if she had stepped into a dream. But she could not deny that what he was saying made sense; she knew Viren and King Harrow had been best friends for years, since the king was Prince Harrow. To be fair, the king hadn’t treated her any differently at all these past few months; it was only Sarai, and only tonight, who had given any indication that she knew. And she certainly seemed to...approve? 

“I don’t believe this,” Opeli murmurs, head bowed. Despite her initial horror, the wine she’d drunk was dulling the edges of her stress, exposing the humor of the situation. The King and Queen... _knew._ And she was still alive, somehow. She hadn’t disappeared in a puff of shameful smoke. At the sound of quiet steps, she looks up, sees Viren coming closer, a cautious smile playing around his lips.

“Are you still thinking about slapping me?” he asks slowly, and Opeli chews on her sudden urge to laugh, wanting to punish him a bit more. 

“I am.” Her breathing grows shallow as he steps even closer, eyes twinkling in amusement, in anticipation.

“Well?” he questions cockily, his expression quickly morphing to shock as his head snaps suddenly to the right by the force of her open palm. He’s only able to gape at her in shock for a second before Opeli curls one hand into the front of his robes, dragging him forward and crushing their lips together in a blazing kiss. 

Viren doesn’t hesitate; hands rising to cradle her head, displacing her loose updo, he returns the kiss hungrily, groaning into her mouth. He yelps in shock when Opeli yanks her head away and raises her hand to deliver another stinging smack. 

_“Keep...this...to...yourself,”_ she warns him lowly, her skin feeling as if it's wholly engulfed in flames with the way he’s looking at her, as if he wants to dive into her and never come up for air. Turning him bodily around and shoving him back, back, until he hits the wall, she leans in for another breathless kiss, a gentle nip on his lower lip, as she shoves his robe aside to unbuckle his pants. Reaching in to curve her hand loosely around his half hard cock, she swallows his shuddering moan, licking into his mouth, then pulls away, raising an eyebrow. “Can you do that?”

Viren hisses, pushing into her hand, curling an arm around her waist tightly as he releases a low chuckle. “I’m not making any promis— _ahh—_!” He pounds the wall behind him with his fist when Opeli grips him tightly, his stiff cock blurting out a rush of precum. 

“You’re impossible.” Opeli strokes him quickly, the sound obscene and loud in the quiet room, lighting her up from the inside out. This is officially past the point of no return, she knows, and she can’t even blame it on any mysterious plant this time. But she doesn’t care, not even after the night’s shocking revelation; she wants Viren, right now, falling apart beneath her hand like this, fingers clenched in her dress, low grunts tumbling from his chest. If she felt truly drunk on anything, it was power, and the way Viren’s hips punch up, chasing more, the way his tongue tastes against hers when she kisses him, like sweet wine and desperation. She sweeps her thumb slowly over the messily leaking head of his cock, smiling against his mouth when she feels him shake, and threads a hand into his hair, tightening her fingers slowly. 

_“Gods—”_ Viren bites out, before his cock jerks and expels a rush after rush of hot fluid, slicking against her knuckles and staining the front of his pants. His chest heaves and eyes widen as he watches Opeli withdraw her hand, appraise it thoughtfully, and raise it to her mouth to lick. When her eyes meet his, he growls, capturing her wrists and spinning her around in one swift movement, raising them above her head and holding them there with one large hand.

“Viren!” she gasps, and gasps again when he dives in to place bruising kisses along her neck and up to her ear, slowly licking the lobe. 

“So,” he murmurs hotly, directly into her ear. “You _don’t_ want me to tell the king about this, is that right?” The sensation of his breath combined with his words send a lightning bolt of need through her, and she whines, twisting in his grip, feeling herself growing wet. Almost in response, Viren’s hand makes it way past the slit in her gown, traveling through the layers to cup her where she ached the most, pulling a loud whine from her lips. “Hmm? I didn’t get that.”

“Damn you,” Opeli laughs breathlessly, mouth falling open again as Viren’s knuckles brush lightly, too lightly against her clit. She bucks her hips before she can stop herself, a drop of sweat forming and dripping between her breasts, which Viren tracks greedily. She can see the gears turning in his mind as he stares from where he’s still trapped her wrists against the wall to the front of her dress, the soft, delicate material that wouldn’t take much force to overcome…

“I know you’re not a fan of magic,” he begins, curling his hand around her thigh, sliding it upwards to palm her ample bottom and squeeze gently, “but I only have so many hands, and they want to be in so many places.”

Opeli hesitates, momentarily unsure, but her cunt is throbbing too insistently for her to slow down whatever it is he’d like to do. “Just this once,” she whispers, and feels her pulse double its pace when his eyes flare that glowing violet, feels the hissing syllables spill over her skin and travel up her arms like snakes formed from mist, solidifying and tightening around her wrists until they’re immobile. She tests the restraints—solid, but painless—and meets his silently questioning gaze with a nod. His nostrils flare and eyes darken as he rakes his eyes over her form, hands following his eyes’ path—and before she can utter a word of protest, her dress is torn to the waist, falling open and exposing her breasts. Opeli can’t do anything but tip her head back to moan brokenly when he dips down to suck a hardened nipple into his mouth, nipping it, then flicking it with his tongue. He cups her other breast in one hand while the other slips back down to grip below her knee, raising it to his waist, patting it twice as if to indicate she should keep it there. And then his hand is back to where she yearns for it to be, moving her underwear aside, sliding his fingers through her slickness, spreading it. 

“Drenched for me, aren’t you,” Viren murmurs, and Opeli whimpers, flushing deep red when he chuckles. Was he really going to keep talking to her like this? She feels the sudden urge to slam her legs shut, somehow hide her face from his view, lest she actually explode. Instead, she arches her back further and widens her legs, arms flexing as she silently pleads for more. 

“Don’t,” she whispers, swallowing, desire warring with her pride. Viren makes an inquisitive noise, brushes his lips over hers. 

“Don’t...what?” he inquires innocently, brushing two fingers up and down the swollen lips of her labia, burying his face in her neck and inhaling, tilting his head to whisper again in her ear. “Don’t tell you how much I want to feel you dripping in my hand?”

As if summoned, a small rush of liquid sluices onto his fingers, and she shakes with the force of her desire, hole clenching at nothing. She burns anew when Viren makes a satisfied noise, and positively melts when he growls, “Good girl,” before plunging two fingers inside her.

She cries out in shock at the sudden intrusion, clenching her leg around his waist as they pump slowly in and out, slower than she would like, slow enough to drive her mad. She bites her lip, hard, trying to muffle her noises, and groans in relief when he covers her mouth with his, feeling both ravenous and full, pleasure sparking through each limb, building with tremendous speed. When he adds a third finger and increases his pace, she breaks away from the kiss to take in a gasping breath, and he covers her mouth with his hand before she can make any more noise.

“Do you want to bring the whole castle in here, my lady?” he asks with a grin, breaths growing harsher as he watches her writhe against the wall, lost. Opeli tilts her hips up as far as they can go from this position, fully past caring about how wanton she looks, leg muscles aching. Viren’s fingers stroke against a tender spot deep inside her that sends spasms of rapture through her body; she’s so close now, so close. She continues to drip onto his hand and down her thighs, as he fucks her, the sounds incredibly wet and filthy, and she can’t take it, can’t take the way his hand is clamped tightly over her mouth, making her feel so trapped, so _kept_ , powerless against his strength. She whimpers brokenly, eyes squeezing shut, yearning to crest the wave that threatens to overwhelm her. 

“You want to come, don’t you,” he teases softly, slowing his fingers, wrenching a ragged, muffled cry from behind the hand over her mouth. “How badly? Can you show me?”

Opeli whines in frustration, rocking her hips against his hand, sighing when he doesn’t stop her, just removes his other hand from her mouth, brings it down to grip her waist, pinching a nipple along the way. Holding her tight, he leans in to nip at her neck, soothe it with his tongue. “Go on,” he whispers, and kisses her as she fucks herself with abandon on his fingers, moaning desperately into his mouth. When he swipes his thumb lightly—so lightly—across her clit, she seizes up, keening into his mouth as her orgasm rushes through her, her warm walls clenching spasmodically around his fingers. When she’s finally able to breathe again, body slumped against the wall, Viren whispers the spell that releases her wrists from their shackles, catching her when she falls forward against him.

“Are you alright?” he asks her, voice tinged with mirth, and she pinches his waist, even as she lets herself enjoy the sensation of being held. “Ow!”

“Don’t get cocky,” she mumbles, placing an exhausted kiss on his neck. “You used magic.”

“Only for your wrists.”

“Shut up.” She pants softly, catching her breath. “Fix my dress, high mage. I can’t exactly walk out of here in this state.”

“In a minute,” Viren chuckles, sliding his hand up her bare back, coming to rest against her head, fingers slipping into her hair as he pulls her in for a slow kiss. She’s still buzzing, feeling a bit drugged, but clarity seeps slowly back in as she melts into him, opens her mouth to taste him, somehow still yearning to draw him deeper inside. They pull away briefly, then dive back in, clutching each other close, relishing the heat between them.

They freeze as they hear sudden footsteps outside the door, running past, and echoing laughter. Pulling away with some difficulty, Opeli breaks his gaze, glancing worriedly at the door before bringing the tattered remains of her dress back up her sleeves, giving Viren a stern look, knowing it loses much of its thunder with her in this state. If Viren’s smirk is anything to go by, he agrees.

“If you’re sure,” he jokes, but Opeli doesn’t miss the way his pupils dilate as he ogles her shamelessly, reaches out to caress the soft skin between her breasts. “I think I prefer it this way...”

“Stop it,” Opeli hisses, ignoring the flare of heat his touch inspires, grabbing the wrist of his wandering hand and, scarcely aware of her intent before she does it, sucks a finger into her mouth, biting it, hard. “Don’t be greedy.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, withdrawing his finger, looking almost wounded. “Don’t do that if you expect me to stop.” He shakes his head at her, huffing a laugh when she smirks, and whispers a quick spell that mends the dress seamlessly.

“Thank you.” Gingerly patting her hair, she sighs, pulling out the pins that had, at one point, held the style together. “Now, how do you propose we get out of here?” she asks, shaking out her hair and running her fingers through it. 

Viren crosses over to the door, looks back at her, and gestures with his head for her to join him. He pulls it slightly ajar when she does, then checks the hall. “It’s empty. I’m going first. You follow in a few minutes.”

“Right,” Opeli agrees, then frowns, heart rate kicking up several notches. “Follow...where?”

Viren pauses, turning to give her a pensive look. “I—misspoke. I will just return to my—”

“Just go to my chambers,” Opeli interrupts, not wanting to make a whole _thing_ of it, though she knows her face is flushing. “I’ll join you there. We’ll figure out the morning...in the morning.” 

Viren is watching her with a slightly disbelieving smile, which she absolutely refuses to find cute. She gives him a shove, trying and failing to disguise how suddenly giddy she feels. “Go!”

After he’s gone, she waits, heart pounding, veins humming, for several minutes, eyes scanning the long hallway. And then, when she knows she’s ready, she leaves, shutting the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enemies to lovers or enemies to...l o v e r s?


	3. is this how you avoid a conversation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which Viren and Opeli are really bad at talking about their Feelings and really good at doing Other Stuff. 
> 
> cw // weed

When Opeli turns the corner that leads to the wing of the castle where her room is located, her eyes alight immediately on a dark shadow hidden just inside a doorway. She glances around, making sure there’s no one in the immediate vicinity before she continues, pausing to speak low without turning her head. Just in case.

“I’ll go in and leave the door unlocked,” she murmurs, heart thumping erratically when Viren’s hand brushes against hers in the semi-darkness. Against her better judgment, her eyes meet his in the wash of moonlight slanting in from the window facing them, and then she’s gasping against his mouth as his arms encircle her waist, holding her close despite her door being _right there._

“Not out here,” she moans quietly, threading her fingers through his hair, sighing when he tips his nose against her neck. Her eyes snap open at the faint sound of footsteps, and she feels Viren tense as well. Their eyes meet in panic, and then she pulls away, yanking him towards her as she hurries across the hallway.

The voices have nearly rounded the corner when she hurriedly slams her door shut behind them, leaning back against it, heart racing. When she looks up at Viren, he’s catching his breath too, shaking his head with an amused air. 

“So,” he begins slowly, arching a careful brow, looking as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. The tension between them feels as potent and explosive as ever, but the sudden intimacy of their location, and the deliberateness of it, after all these months of abstention and then absence—it’s a little overwhelming. “We’re…uh.”

Opeli’s lips twitch, and she tilts her head, forcing herself to maintain eye contact, even though she can feel her face heating up. She decides to wait, hear how he’ll complete the sentence. When he realizes she plans to stay silent, he frowns. 

“Here,” he finishes uncertainly, searching her face for a clue. “You asked me to come to your chambers.”

“I did,” Opeli agrees, finally breaking his gaze, disliking the warm, syrupy feeling that pools in her chest when he looks at her like that, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. She pushes off the door and brushes past him to walk down the short hallway that leads to her living suite, toeing off her shoes, looking behind to make sure he is following. He’s watching her, bemused, and then he’s glancing around, taking in the framed artwork, the vases spilling over with flowers he’s seen her grow in the castle gardens, the random piles of books that litter most available surfaces. It’s more...lived in that he would have expected Opeli’s home to look, somehow; it belies the interests and inclinations of a colorful, creative mind, so much more textured than the impression she gives at court.

He glances up, disturbed from his reverie when she strikes at flint to light the wood in the fireplace. She fans the flames and turns the wood to help it catch, then brushes flakes of bark from her hands before rising to stand, turning to face him with an almost shy smile. She gives a small gesture towards the room, then a shrug. “Well? What you expected?”

“No,” he answers honestly, running a hand along a long shelf, one lined with small statues in varying degrees of decay: goddesses from ancient mythologies, rich with antiquity. “You have very interesting tastes.”

She chuckles once, running her hands through her hair and gathering it to one side, eyes slipping shut as she combs through the long strands. “ _Interesting_ is typically a coded insult,” she says. He’s so arrested by the motion of her hands that he forgets to respond, and she looks back at him, puzzled.

“I…” he falters, turning to another shelf, swallowing hard, looking at the spines of the books haphazardly stacked there without actually taking in any of the titles. “It was no insult. I...like it.”

“I suppose I should offer you a drink,” Opeli responds, and he glances over, surprised by the abrupt conversational turn. She’s seated on the enormous, plush velvet couch that faces the fireplace, leaning forward to rummage through a small wooden box that rests on the table before her. Curious, Viren makes his way over, sinks onto the couch beside her. 

“A most unusual bar, that.”

“Oh.” She gestures with her head to another shelf that holds several bottles and small cups, then turns to give him a cajoling smile. “Help yourself. This is something else.” He peers more closely at what she’s doing—grinding up an herb that smells both sweet and musky—as he stands to get their drinks.

“Are you going to keep me in the dark?” he wonders, selecting a bottle, inspecting it, and then uncorking. He looks over his shoulder, unable to suppress a fond smile at the sight of her: still in her formal dress, one leg tucked beneath her, face set in concentration as she scoops up the ground up herb and drops a small mound delicately into the hollow of a long pipe. She pauses to toss her hair out of her eye, and he can’t help but admire the way the flickering firelight plays off of the silky strands, emblazoning it in waves of orange and gold.

“Just get over here, and I’ll show you,” she orders playfully, finally turning to look at him. Their eyes catch and hold, and whatever has been slowly swelling between them takes on a new intensity in the silence that follows. Opeli flushes, biting her lip as she looks down, then away. “You coming?”

When Viren resettles beside her, she takes her glass and takes a sip before setting it on the table. Viren watches her expectantly, stretching one arm out along the back of the couch.

“A few years ago, I began to suffer from terrible migraines,” Opeli begins, her fingers worrying the skirt of her dress. Viren glances down at them, admiring the long, elegant fingers, the nail beds pale pink and glossy. “The healers told me they may never fully go away, but suggested a treatment that I’d be able to continue long-term.” He looks down at the pipe, realization dawning.

“It’s greenleaf,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “Of course. I’d never considered…” He picks up the pipe, exhales a disbelieving laugh as he examines it. “ _Smoking_ it.”

“It’s effective,” Opeli shrugs, and freezes, unsure, when he fixes her with an unreadable look. “What?”

“You! You’re just,” Viren muses, “Full of surprises.”

Opeli smirks, reaching over to take the pipe and place the mouthpiece between her lips. She quirks an expectant eyebrow at Viren and he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, snapping a small flame into existence, bringing it into contact with the flaky herbs.

“You’re getting spoiled,” he complains, watching her inhale, pull the pipe from her mouth, and expertly release most of the smoke through pursed lips, the rest through her nose. It is, without a doubt, one of the most casually erotic sights he’s ever seen, largely because it’s _Opeli_ , wine-loosened and barefoot, such a stark contrast to her usual persona that he’s left reeling and incredibly turned on. When she turns to look at him, her eyelids are noticeably heavier, lips curled in a small, blissed out smile.

“Your turn.”

“I can’t believe _you’re_ corrupting _me_ ,” he snorts, taking the proffered pipe and following her lead, a little too overzealous, spluttering out a cough. She laughs, taking the pipe back from him and handing him his drink. 

“Amateur,” she gloats, jostling his thigh with hers. He narrows his eyes at her over the rim of his glass as he sips, and she laughs again, a low, rasping chuckle that folds into him like butter. He blinks, and then blinks again, shaking his head, a slow creep of lassitude slinking through his limbs, the air around them coalescing into something like soup. He sets down his glass with a meditative exhale that extends into a hum. 

“Wow,” he says finally, looking over to find her watching him, her head perched at a knowing angle.

“Right?”

“I can see why you continued your...treatments.” He settles back more fully on the couch, all of their previous tension having bled away to make room for the slow, liquid calm, bringing their bodies into closer contact as if beholden to some carnal gravity. 

“Well, they haven’t completely gone away,” Opeli concedes, tipping her head back against the couch, taking advantage of his facing forward to drink in his profile. “I still mostly get them when I’m stressed.”

“So, all the time,” Viren counters automatically, and she pauses, a slight frown darkening her features. He turns to face her, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows, an expression she vaguely recognizes as guilt.

“Do I seem stressed _all_ the time?” she asks. “I think I should be offended by that.”

“Well.” Viren looks down, distantly noticing that at some point he’d started playing with her hand, running the pads of his fingers across her knuckles, stroking the soft skin of her palm. “Bad joke. I will say that before I left, you did seem a bit less...rigid.”

“If you’re trying to politely say that I used to have a stick up my ass, the same could be said for you.” 

Viren snorts loudly at that, and Opeli smiles, charmed by the wrinkles that appear in the corners of his eyes. “Well, cheers to that?” He raises his glass, and she raises hers too, and they drink. When their eyes meet again, Opeli feels a pleasurable jolt, and she doesn’t protest when Viren plucks the glass from her hand to put it on the table, nor when he hooks a finger into the front of her dress, tugging her towards him. Resettling herself over him so that she’s straddling his lap, Opeli braces her hands against his chest as she leans in, humming contentedly as he meets her halfway in a slow, searching kiss, still new enough to feel thrilling, though pleasantly tempered by the calming effect of the drug in their veins. Viren’s hands encircle her waist, fingers massaging the smooth silk as he sucks gently on her lower lip, curls his tongue against hers, feeling a bit lightheaded when Opeli’s arms twine around his neck to bring them closer. There’s even less pretense this time: no accident, no rushed assignation where they might be discovered: now it’s just slow and easy, the careful exploration of lips and tongues and hands in the hush of Opeli’s private rooms, where they have all the time they could want. Opeli sighs, tipping her head sideways as Viren deposits kisses up the line of her neck, his fingers carefully unlacing the ties holding her dress together in the back. 

“No ripping this time,” she murmurs, eyes still closed, and feels Viren’s amused huff of air along her jaw. 

“Unnecessary,” he agrees, sliding the sleeves down her shoulders, off her arms. Bared once more from the waist up, hair gently mussed, Opeli watches him with that expression that hinges somewhere between shy and defiant, lips shining with moisture, cheeks flushed pink. She shifts restlessly in his lap as she cards a hand through his hair, self-conscious beneath the heaviness of his gaze. 

“Are you going to stare all night?” she asks, trying to inject a note of petulance in her tone, but it comes out distinctly vulnerable instead. Despite her slight discomfort, she can feel her nipples harden, aching to be touched, and she rocks more deliberately downward, gratified when he bites his lip on a low moan, fingers clenching in her waist, canting his hips up to press himself against her. 

“ _Mmm_ , you’re so—” he begins, then abandons speech entirely to place kisses along her collarbone and across her chest, flicking his tongue against a nipple, so slow and soft that Opeli gasps out loud, drops her head back in a breathy moan. Then he does it again, and again, and Opeli has to tighten the fingers still clutched in his hair to steady herself, giving into the sparks of pleasure singing up and down her spine, settling in her core, slicking her already-damp underwear. When Viren switches to lavish the same torturous attention on her other breast, she whines, grinding down against his solid length beneath her, still trapped beneath layer upon layer of fabric, a maddening tease. 

“I want you,” Opeli breathes, before she can stop herself, borne aloft on her high, inhibitions scattered to the wind. Her eyes flutter open and she reaches down to undo his robes, raising herself just enough to fumble with the opening of his pants until she is able to draw out his glistening cock, unable to resist stroking it slowly several times, just to hear him moan, just to see him sprawl further into the couch, widening his legs as he surrenders to her touch. 

“Like this, right now?” he grits out, eyes boring into hers, even as he slides his palms up her thighs, finding her sodden underwear. She shifts to slide them off her legs and resettles, grasping him at the base, humming in gratitude when he shoves the fabric of her dress out of the way as she positions herself over him.

“Like this, right now,” she echoes, before seating herself squarely on his cock, twisting a hand into the loosened material on his chest, bracing herself as she works herself over him, pulling him in. His face is a study in pained restraint, and she can’t do anything but focus on the sensation of being filled so completely, his thick, burning length clutched so perfectly inside her. She swivels her hips slowly, and is rewarded by Viren grasping at her back with wide-eyed desperation, continuing to hold himself still. 

“You—” Viren begins, gritting his teeth as Opeli does the hip swivel again, and again, not quite pulling off, but clenching tightly around him— “ _Fuck_ , that’s perfect.” He swallows against a moan, one hand trailing up her spine to grasp at her hair, startling a whine from her throat. “Can I—”

“Yes,” she breathes, and whimpers when he widens his legs even further, planting his heels against the ground so he can shove upwards, small, steady thrusts of his hips that push him in deeper, and after a few attempts she meets him on the downstroke, both of them crying out as they fall into glorious unison. It’s incandescent, the pleasure lighting through them like wildfire, and Opeli groans in frustration as the flowing skirt of her dress gets in the way, displaced by the increasing frenzy of their movements. Viren uses his other hand to gather it up, crushing the material in his fist. Her face burns as this exposes her bouncing rear to the cooler air, but she nonetheless pumps her hips harder, leaning forward to shift the angle. Her hair swings into her face as Viren brings the hand that was in it to her chest, palming one of her breasts, and pinching the nipple—hard. 

Opeli cries out in shock, suddenly on the knife’s edge of her release, feeling the place where their bodies meet grow slick. Viren’s eyes are hooded, predatory, as he rubs the pad of his thumb around her open mouth, pushing it inside, pressing down against her tongue. She watches him watching her as she bites it, curls her tongue around it, suckles at it with a quiet desperation while grinding downwards, seeking more of that delicious pressure against her aching clit. Her head swims as she continues her steady undulations, the mounting pleasure ratcheting up from the base of her spine, licking across her bared skin, so agonizingly slow it borders on pain. 

“Oh god, oh, _ohplease—_ ,” she breathes shakily, eyes unseeing, every muscle clenched in anticipation as her brain positively shorts out in a wash of blinding color. Viren drags his thumb from her mouth and grips gently at her neck as she tosses her head back, crying out her release. He watches her gasp for air, body still wracked with intermittent shudders, and it’s only when she slumps on a long exhale, sated, that he slides his hands up her thighs and around to grip her bottom. She moans again, softer, when he resumes rutting into her, the glide so impossibly hot and wet, he can’t do anything but bury his face in the skin of her chest, sliding his mouth over her breast.

“So fucking beautiful when you come for me,” he bites out, and she gasps, face coloring as he finishes with a low grunt, spilling his heat deep inside her. Dazed, she runs careful fingers down the back of his neck, startling when he jerks suddenly beneath her with a hiss.

“What’s wrong?”

He shivers, looking up at her with a sheepish half-smile, still visibly catching his breath. “Nothing,” he reassures her, dropping his head again, nuzzling his temple playfully against her chest. His next words are muffled as he speaks them into her skin. “It's a sensitive spot.” 

“Hmm,” Opeli murmurs thoughtfully, filing that intel away. She suppresses a sudden giggle, remembering the way he’d jumped. “Good to know.”

_“Don’t_ even think about it.”

“Think about...this?” But he’s quick, reaching up to grab her hand, immobilizing her fingers before she can drag them down the same patch of skin, and she barks out a laugh, fighting fruitlessly against his ironclad grip. “Unhand me, Lord Viren!”

“No,” he grins, and kisses her.

And it’s so easy, too easy to fall into this again, at first just laughing against each other’s lips, but then the humor dissipates and it’s all molten heat again, more addictive than it has any right to be. Opeli raises her hips, releasing him from her clenching walls, and huffs a small laugh when he hisses against her mouth, then sighs as he returns to the kiss with twice the fervor, sliding his hands up her arms, across her chest, up and down her back in sweeping caresses. It feels good—it feels like the kind of good that could become a problem in its lack, and she’s already thinking about it, about the cold, sobering light of day when all of this torrid passion will seem ridiculous, or worse, missed. 

She doesn’t want to miss him. No, she doesn’t want to lose him. No, she doesn’t want to fear that there is a _something_ with him to lose.

She pulls away with some difficulty, resisting the urge to relent when Viren murmurs an unintelligible complaint, chasing her mouth. Her heart clenches oddly at his loose, unguarded expression of want, knowing she wore one all too similar not too long ago, coming apart at his touch. She groans below her breath, clenching her eyes shut as her hands curl into fists against his back. 

“Second thoughts?” Viren asks, his voice deceptively light, but she feels him exhale when she shakes her head slowly. “Is this too fast?”

Opeli chuckles helplessly, finally steeling herself to open her eyes and meet his gaze. “A bit too late for that question, I think.”

“Do you want to…” his brows furrow as his eyes trail down her body; she’s still half in, half out of her dress. Their conversation in her study happened only earlier that day; how was that possible? “I can—leave, or—”

“No!” Opeli flushes a brilliant red at the exclamation, biting her lip as she drops her head, letting her hair conceal her heated face. She scrapes her nails along his scalp, feeling herself fall further with every second they remain entwined, heart thudding in the charged silence. Viren sighs, tightening his hold on her, burying his face in her neck.

“Tell me what you _want_ ,” he says at last, his obvious frustration softened by the drag of his lips against her skin.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s...not helpful.”

“What do _you_ want?” 

“You. I—” Viren sucks in a breath, tensing, and Opeli’s chest gives another violent flutter at the rapid admission. She doesn’t say anything, just rises from his lap, pulling her dress back over her shoulders to prevent it from slipping entirely off. He looks up at her, startled, unsure, and then looks down at the hand she offers him.

“Are you coming?” she murmurs, holding her breath until he rises as well, rebuttoning his pants with a rueful smile before taking her hand, letting her lead him down a dark hallway to her bedchamber. Their fingers entwine immediately, and it’s somehow this, more than anything else said or done tonight, that compels Viren to tug her close once they enter the large, circular room, answering her questioning glance by slotting their mouths together again. Short breaths and moans punctuate the steady capture and release of their clinging lips, the only sounds in the quiet room. Opeli steps backward, shrugging off her dress before lowering herself onto the bed, never breaking eye contact. The air feels alive with a new kind of electricity, both heavier and more precarious, as Viren strips down in turn, climbing onto the bed after her, moving in close and brushing a possessive hand up and over the smooth curve of her hip. He’s quiet, watching its progress, drinking in Opeli’s nude form in the dappled moonlight streaming in from a well-placed skylight. Beautiful. He had said that, hadn’t he? It was in the throes of orgasm, so it had plausible deniability, but what was there to deny? 

Opeli shifts more fully to her side, tucking an arm beneath her head to support it as she gives Viren an unreadable look. “Qu—Sarai will be pleased, I think,” she says, and Viren gapes.

“What do you—”

“Let’s drop the pretense, I think? I’m obviously aware that I was a...topic of conversation,” Opeli interrupts, rolling her eyes. “Her comments tonight make a lot of sense, in retrospect.”

Viren doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his hand doesn’t stop its wandering caress, trailing along the soft planes of her stomach. He bites his lip, contemplating her. “What comments?” he asks finally.

Opeli exhales on a playful smirk, tipping her head in jest to the ceiling, as if straining to remember. “Something about how pretty you are, with your _sexy_ beard, and _tuggable_ hair.” Opeli laughs, running her fingers through said hair yet again, brushing the longer strands this way and that, finally pushing it back, taking in Viren’s stricken expression. “I thought you’d be happy to hear how complimentary she is.”

Viren opens his mouth, shuts it again. Sarai could be so _much_. “And what did you say?”

Opeli’s smirk widens, and she musses Viren’s hair roughly a final time, leaning in to bat her nose against his cheek. “Are you really still in need of an ego boost?” 

“Always.” He grins when she swats at his shoulder, watching her face closely without trying to make it appear so. He’s still not able to tell how much she knows, or has guessed. 

“Well, she was clearly trying to bait me. Was the king playing at matchmaker with you as well?” Her eyes find his again, sharp and assessing. 

“In his way.”

“Did you make that garrowroot into a fertility potion for Sarai?”

Viren is so stunned by the sudden pivot that he visibly reels, face slackening in surprise. “How did you—”

“Well it was obvious, wasn’t it?” Opeli watches him flounder with a hint of triumph, still more questions lurking behind her eyes. There’s a long silence as they stare at each other, and Viren reminds himself that despite...everything, this is still the Opeli who makes intimidation an art in the royal court, the High Cleric who tends to know much more than she lets on, never revealing her full hand until she has deemed it time. He applies a steady pressure to the hand resting on her hip until she relents, turning onto her back while watching him curiously, arching an eyebrow as he slithers down between her legs and parts them with slow intention.

“Is this how you avoid a conversation?” she asks, the shakiness of her breath undercutting her words as he closes his teeth around the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

In response, he soothes the spot with his tongue, then repeats the motion on her other thigh, suckling gently, gratified when she twitches below him, the scent of her arousal heady and dark. 

“Oh, so you’re _good_ at avoiding conversation.”

“Sorry, did you want to keep talking?” he asks innocently, letting his lips brush against her warm mound as he speaks, using his thumbs to pry her gently apart. When he flicks his eyes upwards she’s arching her back, mouth clamped shut as she watches him, shaking her head with a knowing gleam in her eyes. He gives her a slow wink at the same time he drags his tongue slowly up her gleaming slit, then flicks it rapidly against the hood, so close to where he knows she wants it. 

“ _Viren_ ,” she bites out on a strangled gasp, one hand coming down to clutch desperately at his hair, the other flying backward to grasp the headboard. She tosses her head to the side, biting her lip, eyes tightly shut.

That won’t do. He massages her folds with the flat of his tongue, alternating between fast and slow strokes, dipping in to stab at her hole, then drawing back to place small licks against her clit, just barely applying pressure. He takes his cues from the tenor of her small gasps, the inconstant rocking of her hips, giving a little, then pulling back, his face growing messy with her excitement. He can feel his cock swelling against his stomach at the way her sex becomes more lush and plump below his mouth, so responsive to his touch. Opeli’s panting, at first barely audible, grows increasingly louder until they’re lilting cries, slotted between her gasps for breath. Viren hitches her legs over his shoulders, gripping at the swell of one of her thighs while his other hand wanders up to brush his knuckles against her stomach, squeeze at a breast.

_“Oh—!”_ Opeli arches, clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle her hoarse shout. Viren growls, batting her hand away.

“Let me hear you,” he orders, keeping his eyes on her as he presses his tongue _hard_ on her clit. Her grip on his hair tightens painfully as she releases a gasp that is subsumed into a scream, rocking herself against his face, her heels pressed into his back. He doesn’t relent as her quakes begin, pinching her nipple and rolling it between his fingers, laving her clit again and again with his tongue as she moans continuously, the whites of her eyes the only thing visible at the height of her pleasure. It takes several long moments for her to come down, her body visibly loosening all at once, and she pulls Viren closer for a filthy kiss, licking into him hungrily. He notes with a jolt of delight that her legs are still where he’d placed them on his shoulders, and spares a thought for her impressive flexibility. Something to explore further, later. Hopefully.

“I love the way you taste,” he breathes against her mouth, biting at her lower lip. He smirks when her breath hitches, her face growing warm, like he knew it would. “The way you tremble against my tongue.” He goes in for another open mouthed kiss, reaching down to grasp his aching cock, unable to hold back a groan. “I want to fuck you now.”

“ _Ohgod_ ,” Opeli keens, trying to cover her face with her hands, which pulls a breathless chuckle from Viren, even in his desperate state. He growls playfully at her again, trailing his lips across her jaw, until they’re right beside her ear.

“You can’t exactly act shy now, Lady Opeli,” he murmurs, positioning himself at her leaking entrance. “Will you let me?” He nips at the lobe of her ear, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Please.”

“Yes, _please_ , yes,” she whimpers in a rush, her fingernails making crescent shaped marks in his back, hitching her hips up, trying to pull him in, moaning in frustration when he shifts back.

“Please, what?”

She glares up at him, chest heaving, eyes glittering with resentment and arousal. God, he was done for. “Just— _fuck_ me, you smug _fuck_!”

Viren gasps out an incredulous laugh as he pushes in, finally, finally, wrenching cries from them both as he buries himself to the hilt. He won’t last long at all, not with his nose still full of her scent, not with the way her tight heat is pulling him so deliciously in, nor the way she is meeting his every thrust with sharp, wet smacks that rock the bed like they’re trying to break it. Viren lets Opeli’s legs fall from his shoulders, grasps her hips and pulls them up to deepen the angle of their fucking, aiming for the small target that he knows will make her see stars. After a few attempts he’s successful, and continues to work at that spot—and then he’s rewarded with a sobbing gasp, a vise-like tightening around his length as Opeli tumbles over the edge once more, leaving scratches along his back and shoulders that he hopes will still be there tomorrow.

“So good for me, _gods_ , so fucking perfect,” he grunts, feeling that telltale tingling rush at the base of his spine, balls tightening as he snaps his hips in, in, blood rushing in his ears. He pulls out and strokes himself to completion on her belly with a shout, painting her gleaming skin in stripes of white. And then he can’t do anything but collapse beside her as he catches his breath, doing his best to keep his brain from leaking out of his ears.

But then he turns to Opeli before the fatigue fully settles in, because he is a gentleman, after all. “Do you have a...cloth, or rag, somewhere very close by, preferably?”

She huffs a laugh, opening her eyes to peer back at him. “I do, and it’s...over there.” She points to a darkened doorway way on the other side of the room—a washroom, no doubt—and Viren sighs, then sits up. When he comes back to the bed with a moistened cloth, he smiles suspiciously at the way Opeli is watching him while he cleans her stomach.

“What?”

“Only talkative at _certain_ times, I’m learning.”

Viren frowns playfully at her before running the cloth over himself, then dropping it before rejoining her on the bed, this time beneath the covers. “I could say the same for you.” He shuffles in close, smoothing a possessive hand over her side, dipping down to squeeze the swell of her ass, just because he can.

“Yes, well,” she responds primly, and whacks Viren’s shoulder when he snorts. “Stop it!”

Viren tightens his arm around her waist, nuzzling his nose against her neck, inhaling as his eyes fall shut. “You’re just a...delight of contradictions, Opeli.”

“The most interesting people are,” she retorts, but he can hear the smile in her voice. She shifts, turning to press her back against his chest, tangling their legs together. 

And then, they sleep.

  
  



	4. is that what you truly want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> deeply appreciate you all! we have made it to the end. a bit more plot here. I've taken some liberties here, please be forewarned. 
> 
> cw// civil unrest, blood, attempted sexual assault, canon character death

“The people are in revolt,” Lord Nyron reports with his standard grave air, addressing the assembled High Council as rain lashes against the windows of the small meeting chamber. His curled mustache quivers as he sniffs imperiously, referring to the long scroll he’s holding through the spectacles balanced on his bulbous nose. “In the northeast region of Morliss, to be exact. They are complaining that the local militia are abusing their positions, subjecting the lower classes to violence and even extrajudicious murder, in the most grave cases—”

“I don’t mean to sound, mmmm, indelicate,” Lord Bailey interjects, and Viren meets Harrow’s eyes across the table for the briefest second as the elderly official continues. Viren had once gotten incredibly drunk and made Harrow shoot his drink from his nose with his rather unflattering impression of Lord Bailey. From the slight twitch of Harrow’s lips, he’s remembering it too. “But aren’t the local militia, well, local? What are _we_ to do about such a problem?”

“The people rely on their monarchy for leadership, Lord Bailey,” Opeli answers smoothly, giving the man a cool gaze. “If they had no recourse for such matters, the entire kingdom would fall into chaos.”

“If I could continue,” Nyron sniffs, and Opeli inclines her head gracefully. “This is by no means a novel complaint. The populace grows restless, and news of this, well, _collective_ anger is spreading. As you know, this region is home to some of the more, how do I say, prominent Katolian families—”

“One of those families being your wife’s,” Lord Saleer inserts, and makes a show of balking at Nyron’s glare, looking around the table. “Am I wrong?”

“Please, let him finish,” Harrow intones.

“Not only do we risk running afoul of some of our oldest families,” Nyron continues doggedly, “A significant majority of the nation’s grapes and olive stores are harvested there yearly. If the workers strike indefinitely, as they are threatening to, we face an incalculable economic disaster.”

“Striking workers cannot feed their families,” Viren frowns. “And winter is coming.”

“Striking workers make their voices heard,” Opeli argues, raising an eyebrow at Viren, who tilts his head in careful concession, eyes narrowed. “This is a matter of human rights, not of agriculture and trade.”

“It is both of those things, and more,” Viren shoots back, then looks to Harrow and Sarai. “So we have an uprising on our hands. What are their demands?”

“A more just militia, it would appear,” Sarai responds thoughtfully. “But they are selected and trained by local leaders, without oversight from the crown.”

“As it should be,” Saleer grunts, folding his arms over his chest. “We are not Del Bar, where the monarchy has their prying hands in every domestic dispute and rooster sale.” Sarai shoots a curt glance at Viren, who meets her eyes before pursing his lips and looking away. “This is a town with a population of, what? Six thousand?”

“Be that as it may, the fact remains that a sudden decrease in the national trade of wine and oil will wreak long-term havoc on the kingdom,” Nyron snaps.

“We have wine, spice, and oil traders along the southern border,” Bailey cuts in, and Nyron huffs impatiently while Saleer grimaces.

“That swill? I wouldn’t feed southern wine to my dogs.”

“Your personal tastes aside, Saleer, the farming industry in the south has been largely disrupted by the unusually high levels of humidity this past summer, as I explained in my last agricultural report!”

“Let’s settle down,” Harrow says loudly, but placatingly. “We do not want to cause any undue suffering to any part of the kingdom, but my concern lies with the people first.” He pauses, staring meaningfully at every member of the council. “I do not rule over wine and oil. We will listen to what the people are saying.”

“These militia are largely middle and lower class as well,” Sarai notes. “If there is corruption within their ranks, this is not an issue that will be effectively solved by nobility. To your point, Lord Saleer, however distastefully you made it.” She shoots him a stern look, and his jaw tightens, abashed. “Our people should feel empowered to govern their own communities. But if that power is abused, we cannot simply march in and strip it away.”

“Your Majesty, if I may,” Viren cuts in, and Sarai nods. “I see your point, but I fear the time is past for soft measures. I have seen this kind of unrest before, and the colder and hungrier the people become, the faster this discord will spread. We need to think in terms of action. I propose we dispatch a task force from the royal military to select and train a new militia—”

“Lord Viren—” Bailey interrupts, but Viren raises a dismissive hand to silence him, continuing smoothly.

“As well as sending the local leaders financial assistance, as they face the enormous task of getting their economy back on track.”

“So you want to give them a handout for abusing their people,” Opeli states flatly, and Viren looks at her in surprise. “You propose overriding the will of their own elected leaders, and delivering gold for them to do with as they see fit. Or will they, too, play host to their own royal babysitters as they attempt to do their jobs with dignity?”

Viren blinks, taken aback by the cold sarcasm in her voice. “I have little faith in the will of the elected leaders, frankly, if they’ve allowed the problem to develop as it has.”

“And so you think they will accept outside help? I’m sorry, coercion?”

_“Outside?_ Is it their monarchy, is it not?”

Harrow and Sarai exchange a tense, knowing look. 

Opeli gives Viren a small smirk, shaking her head. “You say you’ve seen this kind of problem before. I would love to hear of a local official who took kindly to being told what to do, complete with a cash bribe, from the crown.”

“Money talks, Lady Opeli,” Saleer says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. 

“And _I_ would love to hear your counterproposal, my lady,” Viren responds, gesturing grandly. Their gazes hold for another moment, and then Opeli looks to the head of the table.

“Your Majesties, I do believe there should be a royal task force sent to the region, but it should absolutely _not_ be from our military,” she tells Sarai and Harrow. “That sends the wrong message. This a complex, _systemic_ issue that requires extensive reform, if not a total dismantling of the current order and replacing it with a better one. It cannot be a quick fix, or the problem will return tenfold, I can guarantee it.”

Sarai leans forward, considering. “I am inclined to agree with you, Lady Opeli, but the hour grows late, as was mentioned. How does your plan account for the very real material needs of these families in the coming weeks?”

Viren sits back in his chair with a knowing expression, tilting his head in Opeli’s direction. “It doesn’t,” he offers, when the silence grows, and meets Opeli’s glare with a look that borders on plaintive. “Let’s be realistic, Opeli,” he says softly, and frowns when she bristles, sitting up straighter in her seat.

“Too much oversight from the crown will arouse the suspicion of the gentility,” she points out bluntly, nodding at Nyron. “And a financial windfall will only further encourage bad faith behavior the moment the troops have left. We have to be strategic about this.”

“I agree,” Harrow responds firmly, then listens for a moment while Sarai whispers into his ear. He gives her a searching look, then nods slowly, before addressing the rest of the council. “We will send financial and material aid to each individual family in the region. Lord Bailey, this will require your latest census findings.”

“They are nearly six months old, Your Grace…”

“They will have to serve. Any discrepancies will be managed on the ground. Lord Viren, we will dispatch a few members of our military, but I would also like builders, teachers, healers, and mediators. Lady Opeli, I would task you with selecting this team.” He looks over at Sarai, who nods. “This will be a long-term mission, and we will assume the material and financial responsibility for each emissary who agrees to uproot their life for the sake of this cause.”

“And the militia?” Viren asks. 

Harrow sighs. “Once you and Lady Opeli have identified our initial team, we will meet again to discuss this further. Yes?” He looks to Opeli, who nods stiffly, then to Viren.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” 

“Thank you all. Let’s adjourn.” 

There is the usual bustle of quiet conversation and parchment being gathered as the High Council rises to leave, and Viren catches Harrow’s eye amidst the din. Harrow narrows his brows slightly, tilting his head in alarmed curiosity as his eyes travel quickly to Opeli—who is already on her way out of the room without a backward glance— and back to Viren. Setting his jaw and nodding once, Viren rises to follow. 

When the room has cleared, Sarai comes to sit on the table in front of Harrow, a smile playing about her lips.

“Are we surprised?” she questions, and Harrow chuckles tiredly, bringing his hands up to encircle her hips, letting his head fall forward to lean against her stomach. 

“Not even a little bit,” he says, voice muffled. “I can’t decide if them getting together has made things better or worse.”

“And yet here you are, stirring the pot, giving them a mammoth joint task,” she teases, dragging her fingers through his hair, and he snorts, shrugs. Sarai sighs, gazing out the window at the steady rainfall. “Civil unrest, hunger strikes...this is a mess, Harrow.”

“I know.” He sits up, looking up at her with a resigned expression. “But we’ve weathered worse.”

Sarai pauses, inclining her head skeptically. _“Have_ we?”

“No,” Harrow admits with a groan, and Sarai laughs despite herself. “But one day, when some other shit goes horribly wrong, that’s what we will tell ourselves.”

//

Viren ignores the knowing glances and whispers of Saleer and Bailey as he brushes past them in the hall, making a beeline for the quickly retreating form of Opeli. 

“Why are you so fast,” he grumbles, speeding up, following her around a corner. “Lady Opeli!”

She glances back at him and slows her pace slightly, shooting him a dirty look. “Arrogant as you’ve ever been.”

“I’m not arrogant just because we don’t see eye to eye on things.”

“Right, you’re just arrogant because it’s who you are,” she agrees, and he rolls his eyes, annoyed that even now he can’t help but admire the way her grey eyes shine with righteous fervor, pinning him to the spot. “You’ve always liked to assume you’re the smartest in the room.”

“You bring more to the table than most, Lady Opeli, but you’re an idealist. I am solutions-oriented.”

“Your solutions would only fan the flames of this uprising, _Lord_ Viren.” She huffs an indignant sigh, shaking her head. “I suppose we should be grateful you didn’t resort to dark magic, as you normally do.”

“This is not a problem that could be solved with magic,” Viren snaps, his hackles rising. “Like certain _others.”_

Opeli raises her eyebrows, mouth curling into a small smile despite herself. “I see.”

“Opeli—”

“I’ll leave you to your brilliance, Lord Viren,” she interrupts smoothly, giving him a mocking bow before walking away. Viren hesitates, cursing himself, cursing her, cursing everything that brought them together all of those months ago, because he’ll be goddamned if he can ever shake this maddening, fascinating woman from his system. He growls beneath his breath as he jogs after her again, looking around briefly before grabbing her arm, pulling her close.

“Okay, alright, point taken,” he murmurs, feeling cautiously optimistic when she doesn’t immediately wrench herself free, smack him, or shout. Instead, she stills, not turning to look at him, but allows him to entwine their fingers. “I’m an arrogant bastard. Don’t act like you didn’t know this before.”

“Can I have that in writing?” she replies primly, turning her head to hide the way her lips twitch against a smile. Too late, he catches it, and he presses forward, nipping playfully at her ear.

“You can have whatever you want.” Gods help him, he means it, and isn’t that terrifying?

Opeli finally turns to look at him, raising a scandalized eyebrow. “Well, not here,” she murmurs in warning, but Viren knows her tells by this point, and he only backs her slowly into an alcove, a bit out of the way of the hall where they just stood, but still very much visible were anyone to come down to this more deserted part of the castle. Her breath comes quicker as he leans in, bracketing her into place with his arms. “Viren…”

“It’s been a _week._ You can’t tell me you don’t miss me,” he breathes against her lips, and swallows her answering moan in a kiss that quickly becomes sloppy and wet, a continuation of their earlier argument transmitted through sharp bites and licks, bodies pressed tightly together in the flickering light of the storm outside. Opeli whimpers as Viren runs a slow hand down her body, pausing to squeeze a breast through her robes, questing lower to slip underneath and between her legs, curling his fingers against the warm junction of her thighs. At the too-light touch, she expels a frustrated sigh, curling her tongue even further into his mouth. Taking this as encouragement, Viren shoves her robes a bit higher up, undoing the enclosure to her pants.

“If someone sees—” she breathes, eyes wide, her cheeks hot with excitement, and Viren groans, tipping his head against her shoulder as he fumbles his own pants open, draws himself out. 

“Let’s just,” he bites out, lining himself up at her slippery entrance, “not get caught.” It takes a moment to find the correct angle, but then he’s sliding inside of her, and they both quickly muffle their gasps with another kiss, moreso a desperate press of lips as they rut together against the wall. Opeli is hot and tight, so tight, and her bitten off, rhythmic gasps are the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, especially in the context of a hurried assignation that could very well land them into incredible trouble if they were found. The wave of heat that passes through him at the thought makes him smack one hand against the wall, fingers clenching as he thrusts even harder, and he leans in to put his lips right against Opeli’s ear, knowing what she likes, even if she’s still too ashamed to admit it.

“You feel so fucking good, Opeli,” he breathes, curling his other arm around her waist to bring her even closer, grins at her hoarse whimper, the way her walls flutter around him. “This is what you do to me. I had to have you, right here and now, where anyone could walk by and see.” He bites gently at the lobe of her ear again, moaning softly. He’s getting close, but he wants to get her there first. “But maybe you want that, hmm? You want someone to see you taking it, split open on my cock? Is that what you want?”

_“Oh god,”_ Opeli whispers brokenly, cheeks flooding with color, gripping the back of Viren’s robes for dear life as she meets his thrusts with abandon. “Don’t stop don’t stop _don’t stop—”_

“Fuuuck.” Viren hums into the warm skin of Opeli’s neck as her orgasm hits, her shuddering walls squeezing him so perfectly it skirts the edge of agony. His skin is on fire, his forehead prickling with sweat as he judders in, in, wishing he could just bury himself inside that intoxicating heat forever. “Gods, you’re perfect, I’m gonna—” He hand curls into a tight fist against the wall as he spills into her, fucking her through his orgasm and gasping into her skin, and then he hears it: the unmistakeable sounds of steps rounding the corner. 

Opeli scrabbles wildly at him, pushing him off, and through the post-orgasmic haze they are somehow able to get dressed, appearing halfway presentable and standing an appropriate distance away from each other before two lower ranking officials walk past. Their eyes widen in surprise, but they simply incline their heads respectfully, Viren and Opeli following suit, until they’re down the hall and out of earshot. Opeli jabs Viren sharply in the side before quickly leaving in the opposite direction, waiting until they’ve traveled a fair distance before releasing a shocked, explosive sigh of relief.

“Never again, we are _never_ doing that again,” she gasps in quiet horror, heart still racing, swatting a cackling Viren on the shoulder. _“Stop_ laughing, Viren, this is your fault.”

“It takes two, Opeli, try not to forget that.”

And then they’ve approached the break in their current path, both hesitating to part ways and head to their respective studies. “When can I—” Viren stops talking as a gaggle of courtiers brush past, nodding at their obsequious greeting, watching them until they’ve passed and pitching his voice lower. “When can I see you again?”

Opeli eyes him for a moment, biting her lip. “Tomorrow. Come after midnight.” It won’t leave them with much time—Viren’s duties will begin early the following morning; they both know this. She can see him hesitate, a question growing in his eyes, and she just clenches her jaw, tilting her head in slight resignation. 

Take it or leave it, her expression says. It’s all still a bit too precarious to push back against, and they both know it.

Still. Viren is stubborn, and likes to get his way.

“A minute past,” Viren promises, gratified when she smiles against her will before nodding once, turning, and walking away.

//

When they aren’t at each other’s throats over this or that difference of opinion, Viren and Opeli actually make a brilliant and efficient team. Collaborating on the initial task force to handle the uprising is quick work, spurred on by the very real urgency of the oncoming winter months, which will be particularly brutal this year. Harrow and Sarai give their approval, and soon, preparations to depart are underway. Viren and Opeli are to make the journey with the ambassadors as a gesture of good faith, helping them settle into their new roles, talk to the local leaders to ascertain the latest news from the ground, and then return to Katolis to await further reports. 

It’s a lot of time to spend together, and in a new place under such uncertain circumstances, Viren has no idea what to expect.

“I don’t understand what is so difficult,” Harrow sighs, half reclined on Viren’s bed, watching him pack with narrowed eyes. “I see how you two look at each other when you think no one can see you. It’s disgusting.”

“That’s not the point.” Viren straightens to standing and crosses back to his armoire, rubbing his chin in deep contemplation. 

“...are you going to share _the point,_ then?” Harrow asks after the silence has dragged on, and Viren glances back at him, shakes his head.

“You’re one to talk about disgusting looks, by the way.”

“Well, I married Sarai. Meanwhile, you and Opeli are still skulking around like teenagers with a torrid crush.” Harrow tilts his head, eyes swift and assessing. “You look better in the maroon.”

“I’m afraid you’ve somehow missed the point of this mission,” Viren grouses, but begins folding the deep red robes anyway. “She’s made it very clear that she doesn’t know what she wants. Several times.”

“But you do?”

“I guess I’m like you, I don’t feel the need to complicate things with...secret assignations and obfuscation. That said, when we’re apart, I sometimes understand her hesitation. When we’re together...” His voice is muffled as he bends over to dig around briefly in a drawer. 

Unseen, Harrow pinches the skin between his eyebrows. “Viren, her bed literally broke. You two broke her bed.”

“Yes, well. _That’s_ not the complicated part of it.”

“So basically, this will end in an epic love story for the ages, or you’ll spend the rest of your lives despising each other. This is what I’m hearing.”

Viren snorts, rising again, turning to face Harrow, who’s watching him with a bemused expression. “Well, you know, some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice.”

“Right. Well, let’s try to keep the world from ending, period,” Harrow replies, standing and walking over to Viren, grasping him by the shoulder, pulling him in close. “Be careful, my friend. Alright?”

Viren gives him a small, innocent smile. “I’m always careful.”

//

Two nights before they’re due to depart, Opeli runs into Amaya during an early evening stroll of the castle garden. The young general is polishing her sword, hair falling into her eyes, and she looks up when Opeli’s shadow comes into view, her grin quickly turning devious.

_Why are you looking at me like that?_ Opeli signs, wary, then gestures to the empty space on the bench beside her. _Mind if I join you?_

_You know exactly why,_ Amaya responds, nodding, and squints playfully at Opeli when she's seated. _Chinstrap? Really?_

_I hate that you call him that._ Opeli can't help her small chuckle, but still. It's strangely cute to her.

_I bet you do!_

_I suppose the queen told you, too?_ Opeli can’t decide if she feels more embarrassed or tired. Maybe it will be good to escape the castle for a while. 

Amaya shakes her head. _She didn’t have to. But you just confirmed._

Opeli knows she is usually more straightlaced than this, this strange new person she’s become who abandons nearly all common sense and propriety when she’s within a five foot radius of Viren. The way her heart begins to race just at the thought of him—at the memory of the lazy, appraising way he’ll stare her as she gets dressed, at the feeling of his firm body pressed up against hers just earlier that morning as she awoke, a solid arm curled around her waist—she knows what it means, and is powerless to help it, but still. It doesn’t mean she has to like it. She stares off at a nearby cluster of hydrangeas, lost in thought, brows furrowed, fingers twisting and pinching the skirt of her robes with restless unease.

Amaya looks down, covers one of Opeli’s hands briefly with her own, meeting Opeli’s gaze with a half worried, half teasing expression. _I didn’t mean to offend you._

_I’m not offended,_ Opeli reassures her, shaking her head. _I’m…_

_You seem conflicted. Can I ask…_ Amaya’s mouth twists slightly against a smile, her eyes searching Opeli’s. _Is it serious? Do you love him?_

Opeli rises to stand, needing to hide whatever her face is doing for the moment. The blushing is bad enough. Amaya can be painfully blunt sometimes. Well. All of the time, if she’s being honest.

When she turns, Amaya is just watching her patiently, eyebrows raised. _I don’t know?_ Opeli shakes her head slowly, wonderingly, her stomach in knots. _Isn’t that crazy? This is crazy. It’s Viren._

_Yeah, I know._

_I know you’ve never been his biggest fan. He’s got some...surprising depths._

Amaya holds up a hand, cutting Opeli off. _Please. Do not tell me about his depths._

Opeli flushes scarlet, remembering a rather heated moment from a few nights past, in which Viren disclosed a fantasy that rendered Opeli nearly useless for the following day. _I just mean, I’ve been pleasantly surprised._

_Obviously. So why do you look like you’ve got one of those headaches?_ She tilts her head in immediate, unapologetic response to Opeli’s stern look of half-offense. _You don’t want to hear it, obviously, but you know I’m right._

_I don’t know. That’s the truth. I really don’t know._ She finds the seat again, suddenly strangely exhausted.

_And we all know how much you like to know things. This must be torture. All is explained._ Amaya nudges Opeli’s shoulder, jerks her chin up with a smile. _You’ll figure it out. Keep your head on straight. I’m hearing things are worse up north than Nyron has made it seem._

Opeli’s face burns with muted fury at herself. Of course, this is the issue of importance, not her emotional hemming and hawing. 

_No, don’t do that either. You’re allowed to feel more than one thing at once._

_Fine!_ Opeli laughs despite herself, though she’s still embarrassed, and a little sheepish, as always, to be read so clearly and completely by Amaya. _Are you back for a while?_

Amaya nods. _With the task force gone for a purpose like this, we have to be ready for the worst case scenario. Ancient protocol. Protect the crown._ She slants a glance at Opeli. _Be safe, okay? And don’t get pregnant._

Opeli’s face burns a second time as she nods in turn, but Amaya mercifully either doesn’t notice or just chooses not to comment.

//

“Why do you do that thing?” 

Viren’s chest heaves as he blinks his eyes open incredulously, staring down at Opeli. She’s holding him loosely in her fist, lips shining, her brows knit in curiosity. “What—what thing?”

“Right before you’re about to get your way with Harrow again, you get this terrible little smug look on your face.” She strokes his cock slowly, watching hungrily as he quivers at her touch, her other hand splayed across his stomach. He’d done it again today, in their final debrief before they set out early the next morning, and it set Opeli’s skin slowly aflame, even as she grudgingly admitted to herself that Viren’s point made sense. If Opeli thought that sleeping with the man would be enough to make him whole holistically palatable to her, she had obviously disproven that theory—even so, there’s something about her continued distaste for certain aspects of his personality that still scratches at something deep and dark in her brain. She doesn’t fully understand it, but it’s partially what slicks her thighs right now as she lowers her tongue to flick over the tip of Viren’s weeping cock, again and again as he sinks his hands into her hair, tugging it lightly. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that,” Viren manages, voice tight, rocking his hips subty upwards, groaning when Opeli flickers her gaze upward, brings both hands up to drape around his hips, pressing him down into the mattress. “It’s my face.”

“Your face makes me angry,” Opeli confesses, swallowing him down, hollowing her cheeks and bobbing a few times, listening to his increasingly loud grunts and sighs. She pulls off again, sliding upwards to flick a tongue gently over a nipple.

_“Fuck.”_

He likes that a lot, she’s learned, more than she would have expected. She covers the erect nub in more small licks, bites, and kisses, before switching to the other side and giving it the same careful attention, grasping him firmly again, dragging her grip up and down the slick shaft.

“Are you...trying to make me come like this? Because you’re about to.”

“Almost,” she murmurs, and he just has enough time to glance down questioningly before there’s a finger skipping down past his balls, glancing over his hole. Viren punches out a surprised moan, cheeks reddening, thighs parting of their own accord. Opeli looks up at him again, watching his mouth fall open as she drags her tongue slowly across a nipple again, brushing over his dry entrance more deliberately.

“Wow, I,” he swallows, panting, stroking a slow hand up the back of her thigh, grounding himself with a generous, firm grab of her ass. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Hmm.” Opeli hadn’t been totally convinced, honestly, but since she’d inadvertently thought of it during her conversation with Amaya yesterday, she hasn’t been able to shake the idea. She brings a hand up to her mouth, sucks a finger in, coating it in saliva. She feels nearly lightheaded with lust at Viren’s slightly desperate sound, at the way he swallows thickly when her now wet finger returns, circling the rim slowly.

“Hurry up,” he grits out, the blush extending down to his chest, breathing rapidly through his nose as she breaches him, twisting inward and then back out, slow and sure. Her teeth close over a nipple, and he cries out, biting his lip on a furiously muffled moan. “Ah, fuck, _that’s,_ that’s—”

Opeli moves back down to slurp down his cock, adding a second finger and pushing them in deeper this time, only somewhat surprised when Viren’s hips punch upward, her mouth filling with hot cum, a bit more than she can swallow, some of spilling back down her chin as he clenches again and again around her fingers. She pulls slowly off, licking her lips as she tilts her head, watching him interestedly as he covers his face with his forearms, breathing heavily. 

“Uhh. Wow.”

“Good?” Opeli questions, a bit unsure, and Viren uncrosses his arms to bring his face out of hiding, humming in contentment.

“Very.” His hands fall to Opeli’s waist, gripping it hard, pulling her upward. “You continue to surprise me, my lady. I need to taste you now.”

She comes loudly on his tongue and then again riding his fingers, reasoning somewhere in the back of her mind that anything that can make her feel this incandescent with _want_ is at least worth exploring while they can— her quiet, half-formed doubts be damned.

//

Amaya was right. Things are worse in Morliss than they’d been led to believe.

  
  


There are crudely written signs everywhere when they arrive, declaring the growing anger and disgust with the local government; too many buildings in varying signs of disrepair and recent destruction, a few still smoking as they trod through the main thoroughfare, a few residents gathered to watch the procession with suspicious scowls. There are groups of stern faced militia seemingly at every corner, hands poised on the handles of their swords, as if primed for a battle to break out at any moment. A few of them incline their heads respectfully at the passing party, though a few, Viren notices, simply watch them, and a few even turn their heads to hawk and spit into the street, muttering darkly.

The militia thin out as they trot closer to the more affluent city center. There’s more green and less stray trash littering the streets, bigger houses and slightly more robust storefronts advertising end-of-summer wares. The difference is both gradual and shocking, and Viren is unsurprised to see a thick line of protective forces guarding the entrance to the capitol, outfitted in much more handsome uniform, shining armor shimmering in the early evening sun. And then the governor emerges, sweeping from the double doors imperiously in vibrantly colored finery and gold chains, his wide smile revealing matching golden coverings for his upper and lower incisors. He’s a few inches taller than Viren, rail thin with long, curly white hair, a hard glint in his eyes which betrays his otherwise simpering expression. 

“You are most welcome,” he declares in a high, scratchy voice, snapping his swollen knuckles at several servants, who quickly shuffle forward to lead the horses to the stables. “Most worthy friends from Katolis. Come, you must be weary and in need of refreshment.” He disappears back through the doors, gesturing lazily for them to follow, and Viren and Opeli exchange wary looks as they climb the stairs to enter his makeshift court. 

After an uncomfortable and deeply unproductive few hours, they are finally shown to their accommodation. A misunderstanding leads to Viren and Opeli sharing quarters for the duration of their stay for the next few days, which neither of them bother to correct. The room is cramped, boasting one tiny window that opens to an empty courtyard, with truly gaudy artwork adorning the thin walls, a feeble attempt at class. The whole town gives off the appearance of a precarious house of cards, feverishly working to conceal the rot at the heart, propping up an antiquated notion of prosperity, woefully out of touch with the actual needs of the citizenry. 

They’re both too tired and too disheartened to do anything but quietly undress and slide into bed, their bodies meeting in the center of the hard mattress, Viren’s arms encircling Opeli as she presses her face into his chest.

“Harrow would be horrified,” Viren muses finally, dispelling the thick silence. Opeli hums, thoughtful.

“If he knew the true extent, he would insist on visiting himself.”

“Maybe he should,” Viren responds, turning to look out of the window at the pitch black, starless sky. “The talk of nightly uprisings…”

“We should see these firsthand, I think,” Opeli says definitively, pushing a leg between Viren’s, glancing up at him. His brows are furrowed, unsure. “We’re here to listen to what the people have to say.”

Viren heaves a silent sigh, nods. “Disguised.”

“Of course.”

//

It was the right thing to do, and it was a decision they would both come to regret. 

//

The anger is the air is palpable, almost contagious. They move quickly and quietly through the surging throng, outfitted in black, ducking their heads to avoid detection as they pass people bearing blazing torches, the firelight casting frightening shadows over the frenzied, shouting mass. The procession begins in the outer limits of the city where the corruption has done the most damage, and continues deeper inwards, overturning carts and smashing storefronts, young opportunists taking advantage of the mayhem to dart into the abandoned shops to collect food and goods they wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford, drunk with justice and fury. 

And then the militia begins to close in, faces set in grim determination, and the night explodes into chaos.

Viren grasps Opeli’s hand tightly as they dart down a side passageway, away from the furor, even as sudden shouts and enraged screams, the unmistakable sound of swords being drawn erupt behind them. They pause and stare at each other with wide eyes, and it’s this moment of hesitation that costs them their relative head start. Two soldiers stride purposefully down the street toward them, drawing swords, their faces bloated with power.

“You’re disobeying the governor’s orders,” the larger one growls, still advancing. “You should be inside.”

Opeli throws back her hood, heart pounding. “We are ambassadors of Katolis, members of King Harrow’s high council.” The soldier releases a rheumy laugh and spits on the ground, a few flecks landing on her feet. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are, you need to do as you're told. Now.”

“Watch yourself,” Viren warns, and staggers backward in the next moment, a loud crack splitting the air as the soldier lowers his elbow, eyes flashing. Viren grins, blood streaming from his nose and over his lips, dripping onto his robes. “You’ll regret that.”

“Viren, let’s just—” Opeli begins shakily, disliking the way both soldiers are looking at her, calculating. Her fears are realized when the smaller one moves forward to begin crowding her against a wall, smelling like stale liquor and sweat. She’s only able to find her voice when a pale, spindly hand presses against her shoulder, the other finding her waist, fingers pressing against her painfully. “Get— _away_ from me!”

There’s a blinding flash and he crumples silently to the ground, mouth hanging and leaking blood, his eyes sightless and bulging obscenely. Opeli gazes at him in horror, uncomprehending, then looks up to see a purple glow receding from Viren’s eyes, his mouth set in fury. He spares her a momentary glance before he mutters something beneath his breath and extends a hand toward the other soldier, who is pelting crazily back to the main street, wheezing for breath in his panic. Viren clenches his fist and the man comes whizzing backwards as if skating on air, face screwed up in terror when his back connects heavily with the wall, struggling, pinned there by an invisible force. 

“Please," he gasps, ashen with fear. "I—I have a daughter—”

“You should have thought of her earlier."

Opeli presses a fist to her mouth, swallowing desperately against an overwhelming wave of nausea, a cold sweat covering her skin as she looks down again at the lifeless body at their feet, at the veins in Viren’s hand as he somehow holds the soldier in place, his expression almost smug, serene. “Viren, don’t. Please.”

Viren glances backwards at her, brows knitted in confusion. “You know what they planned to do to us. To you. I don't need to spell it out, do I?”

“No, but you’ve already—” she shudders, drawing her arms around herself even as another wave of nausea passes, her mind spinning through the alternate scenarios, of being trapped, helpless, within a fierce grip she can’t escape, many leagues away from safety. “It’s dealt with. Spare this man.”

Viren clucks his tongue. “He’s seen too much.” Then he’s pressing the base of his palm against the man’s forehead, hissing incomprehesibly below his breath as the man jerks once, then slumps, spilling onto the ground when Viren finally steps back, releasing his hold. When he turns to Opeli, his skin is paler than usual, jaw clenched and hair tousled, radiating quiet power as he wipes the blood from mouth and chin. Her stomach tips dangerously, disturbed as she is, and whatever he sees in her face rattles something loose in his expression, compels him to reach out and pull her close.

“What did you do to him?” she whispers, mind spinning, wanting to push him away, wanting to scream, but curling her trembling fingers into his back instead, fearing she may splinter into pieces and fall apart if not for his solid form against hers. “What have you done?”

“I've rid this city of a monster,” Viren says savagely, and it’s only the slight tremor in his breathing as he presses his face against her neck that grounds her somewhat. “The other won’t remember any of this.”

“We need to leave,” Opeli realizes, and is barely aware of their journey back, scarcely aware of the continued din of the rioting, the pounding footsteps in the dark, the hiss and spit of flames ignited, the slamming doors and piercing cries. It sounds like a war zone, and they’d just _left_ those bodies, one dead and one unconscious, in that alley for anyone to discover the next morning. Opeli can’t stop seeing those bulging eyes, remembering the strangled, wet noise he’d made, and has to sink onto the bed when they finally re-enter the room, not bothering to illuminate it, both of them breathing heavily in the darkness.

Viren just paces the short length of the floor while Opeli presses her face into her hands, trying to calm her racing heart. He finally looks over at her, his voice low, attempting a reassuring tone. “It will be impossible to trace.”

Opeli drags her hands slowly from her face, gazing at him in incomprehension. “Even if that were true—”

“It is.”

“That’s not the point! Viren, you cannot just—”

“Yes, I can. I did. And now we’re both here and whole, rather than the alternative.”

“There are...better ways to...to…” Opeli’s eyes widen as Viren crosses to kneel in front of her, his eyes blazing, not a speck of remorse in his expression. _“How_ did you even—”

“Do you really want me to tell you?” he asks lowly, raising an eyebrow, placing his hands gingerly on her thighs, gripping them tighter when she doesn’t object, just releases a shuddering breath. “I did not get to where I am by minding these _better ways._ I have not kept Harrow and Sarai safe from innumerable dangers, seen and unseen, with my moralistic restraint. I will never apologize for it.”

Opeli shakes her head, a slow fire suffusing her skin, unable to break free of his gaze if she tried. “I wish I hadn’t seen it.”

“If that’s what you really wish, I can ensure it,” he offers, his palms sliding up her thighs, which Opeli parts with a shaky gasp, swallowing. “Is it?”

“No, I—” Opeli bites her lip, her eyes flicking between Viren’s, her fear and revulsion somehow bleeding into an overwhelming haze of need, of desperation to not think, not remember what she’d just witnessed. “Don’t ever use that...magic on me. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Viren responds immediately, and Opeli believes him and she doesn't, but she's distracted by the crusted blood still staining his skin. It's a relief to think of something else.

"Is it broken?" she asks, touching the bridge of his nose softly, remembering the crack of the soldier's elbow as it connected with Viren's face. Viren looks surprised, then thoughtful as he touches it, shakes his head.

"Just sore." He looks up at her in mild surprise when she rises to stand, going to the washbasin to get a cloth and wet it. "You don't need to—"

"Just," she interrupts, heart racing, feeling this train speeding towards some catastrophic end, or maybe it always has, and she's just not willing to disembark just yet. She resumes her seat on the bed in front of him, and he obediently shifts closer as she beckons, tilting his head upwards. "Just let me."

"Fine." Their eyes catch as she raises the cloth, and then he shuts them, exhaling softy as she drags it over his skin, reddening the white material. A corner of his mouth twitches as she continues. "I will not break, Opeli."

She releases a sound that's not quite a laugh, cradling his jaw to angle his head sideways, finding a clean patch of cloth to use as she goes over his skin once more, making sure to get every spot. "I know you won't."

His skin is still paler than usual, faint purple veins visible in the soft skin of his eyelids, his lips a much darker pink by contrast. She's barely aware of combing her fingertips gently through the hair lining his jaw until his eyes blink open, the irises so dark they look black, and she's struck with the memory of the way he'd looked right after, the way he looks whenever he performs that abomination he calls magic—though it's proven itself useful each time, it still makes her insides curl with unease. But the way he's looking at her, it always has a way of cutting right through, sharp and direct as always, a battering ram against her weakened defenses.

This one last time, she reasons wildly to herself, this one last time, she'll allow herself to be weak.

And then there's no more thinking as he surges up to capture her mouth in a bruising, needy kiss, lowering them to the bed, short, breathless moans escaping them as they lose themselves in each other’s taste. It’s frantic and all-consuming, their tongues colliding and hands groping hungrily, and Opeli thinks she hears something rip but can’t care, can only tremblingly get her hands between them to open his pants and shove them down, kicking at her own until they’re finally naked enough—and then her head is falling back as her mouth opens with a wild gasp, his stiff, hot length filling her up so completely that all she can do is claw wildly at the sheets, legs locked around his back. It’s almost like the first time, after inhaling that pollen: the fevered unreality of it, the completely uninhibited surrender to feral, instinctive lust, giving in to a kind of hunger that defies all propriety or reason. One of Viren’s hands finds Opeli’s and their fingers entwine immediately, his thrusts increasing in speed as she squeezes around him, the short, rapid wet smacks unmistakable to prying ears, neither of them finding the will to care. 

Viren moves in to kiss her again, licking deeply into her mouth, swallowing her moans. When he moves back, his face is flushed pink, so open and vulnerable it makes Opeli pull him close again, needing the distraction, not ready to face what comes after this.

“I would do it again,” Viren growls against her mouth, biting at her lower lip, sucking on it, just dragging his mouth wantonly over her. “If anyone ever threatened you. I would take them apart.”

“Don’t,” Opeli manages, heart cartwheeling almost painfully in her chest as her clit throbs, toes curling as his cock continues to thunder into her. She can barely handle his midcoital chatter on a good day, but it feels extra dangerous right now, with him so open and her so lost, locked together in a kind of sync they cannot seem to consistently find otherwise. “Don’t...don’t say that.”

“Don’t, don’t, don’t,” Viren mocks softly, a brief grin lighting up his features as he rubs his nose over her cheekbone, sinks his teeth into her earlobe, his next words quiet, lips pressed against her ear. “I only kill for the ones I love. No one else.”

Opeli’s head flies back on a gasping sob as he changes the angle, pressing even deeper, the sudden increased friction against her hood sending her orgasm rocketing through every limb, her nails scraping at Viren’s back as she climbs rapidly higher, senseless with ecstasy. Viren muffles his sharp cry in her neck as his hips slam into hers and go still, his cock stiffening impossibly harder until it’s pulsing out his release deep inside of her in warm jets that leak out when he withdraws, ducking down to suck her stiff clit into his mouth and bring her to the peak of her pleasure once more, biting desperately on the back of her hand to keep from screaming out as her second orgasm drags her under. 

When Viren peels himself away to collapse beside her, panting, Opeli has to look away, closing her eyes as tears begin to fall, hot and thick. The room is so quiet, almost making a mockery of their earlier passion, and all she can feel is a leaden ball of regret in her stomach, laced with dread. 

She hears and feels it when he looks over at her, clenches her eyes shut tighter when a hand drifts down her back. “You won’t look at me?”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Viren turns to face her more fully, pulls back his hand. Opeli misses it immediately, then curses herself.

“I can’t do this. With you. Anymore.” She forces herself to remember, to think of the slightly unhinged glint in his eye while he held two men’s lives at his own mercy tonight, to focus on the fear and revulsion, attempting to untangle it from her own desire. “Not ever again.”

Viren exhales slow, and when he speaks, his voice is steady. “Is that what you truly want?”

Opeli finds the courage to turn, meeting his gaze directly, face reddening when another tear falls, but she doesn’t let herself falter as she nods. “Yes.”

He tracks the tear and his features cycle between quiet anguish and hurt, but he says nothing, just stares at her a while longer before sitting up, scooting to the edge of the bed to put on the rest of his clothes. “I will find other accommodations until our return.”

She opens her mouth to protest and then snaps it shut, pulling herself up to sit too, bringing her knees up to wrap her arms around them. She watches silently as he shoulders on his robes, cinches the belts and puts on his shoes, as he secures his case and stands to cross to the door. He pauses and looks back at her, face smooth, impassive.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. It will be as if this never happened. Because that’s what you want.”

Opeli nods, her hair spilling forward, curtaining her face. “It is.”

He looks at her for another long moment, then nods to himself, and leaves, the door shutting quietly behind him. 

//

“There is unrest in Xadia. Specifically, at the border of Lux Aurea,” Lord Nyron declares, leveling a warning glance at the assembled council. “Each week, more veiled threats from that damned Sunfire queen.”

“Who we’ve done nothing to anger. They are seeking reasons to strike,” Viren injects heatedly, looking over at Harrow, who blinks wearily back. “They're trying to goad us into action—”

“What is it they’re saying this time?” Harrow interrupts, directing the question back to Nyron. Viren falls silent, clenching his jaw at the subtle rebuff. 

“Breaches, your grace. They claim to have seen shadowy figures crossing the border at multiple points, though when pressed, cannot put a clear face or identity to substantiate the claims. Their anger grows hot. If I may.”

Saleers snorts, rolling his eyes.

“So these are baseless threats,” Lord Bailey says, then coughs, taking a sip of his water. “I do not see why we must entertain them again and again.”

“For once, I am inclined to agree with Lord Bailey,” Viren says, with put-upon boredom. “What news from—”

“Elves has the keenest senses of all creatures, and Queen Khessa is not famed for her patience,” Opeli interrupts, turning to Nyron with her eyebrows raised. “Perhaps it is time to investigate these claims, rather than brush them aside yet again.”

“We devote time and resources to their nonsense and we look like fools,” Viren retorts, his eyes focused on a spot on the opposite wall, avoiding hers, fingers drumming against the table. “Who knows, it may even be a trap.”

“How paranoid of you, Lord Viren.” Opeli just curls her lip at him when he glares, and then Harrow bangs a fist against the table, redirecting all attention. He’s scowling between them, no hint of humor in his eye.

“Enough! Let’s move on.” His eyes flicker to Viren, jaw tightening, and then his gaze slides back over to Lord Nyron. His temper has grown shorter in the few years since Sarai’s death, which makes high council meetings less warm, though decidedly more efficient. “I will speak with General Amaya about these mysterious breaches. Lord Nyron, continue.”

Opeli purses her lips, briefly meeting Viren’s eyes before turning away. Time has done its duty and blunted the edges of what was once a constant, acute pain—particularly cruel for their proximity to each other—blurring out the details of their ill-fated dalliance, leaving only certain memories that have become easier to repress, whispered words that feel like a half-forgotten dream. The true corrosive is the secret, the one that, as promised, has never seen the light of day. The investigation was brief, the local leaders chalking up the untimely death up to a tragic manifestation of underlying illness, and the other soldier was too addled to contribute any real answers. Relative stability was reached in Morliss quite some time afterward, though a new monument now stands in its city square that is dedicated to the bravery of all those whose lives were lost in the uprising, the late governor’s legacy tainted by his exposed corruption and greed. 

Time continues, as is its wont, more problems presenting themselves for the High Council to reckon with, and bit by bit, what was once a blazing passion curdles into resentment and mutual distaste. If the occasional dream or fevered memory ever presents itself, it is indulged only in private. They are professionals, after all.

When the meeting adjourns, Opeli exits, nearly colliding with Viren as they reach the door at the same time, fingers brushing as they both reach for the handle. She pulls back her hand as if stung, looking up at him coldly.

“By all means,” he says simply, opening the door and gesturing her through, a fleeting, insincere smile touching his lips. 

“Thank you.” 

Once they’re both through, they quickly part ways, each attending to their separate duties within this strange, yet familiar world they share—powerful cogs within an ancient machine that groans ever on, demanding their vigilance and brilliance, but their loyalty to their responsibilities to the crown, above all. 

And it’s what Opeli plans to offer until the end of her days, any past missteps left firmly in the past, now armed with the knowledge that she has to carefully inform her future. After all, she’d always prided herself on being careful, measured, bearing each decision with the gravity and decorum that her position demanded. As a member of the High Council, she had no choice to but comport herself with utmost dignity, a task that she accepted and performed with pride. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise alternate title: what's a little homicidal secret between enemies?
> 
> thanks for joining me on this ride that was originally going to be a one shot smutty crackfic, ha! a happily ever after ending just didn't feel plausible for them, alas. maybe in an alternate (alternate) universe...
> 
> in the meantime, find me on twitter: @kuviraava


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